


Mistletoe Confessions

by bethaboo



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 66,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4642743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethaboo/pseuds/bethaboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-2x12 AU. Confronted by another holiday approaching and their relationship still unresolved, Chuck invites Blair to go away to work out their differences. When the snowstorm of a century hits, can these UESers learn to rough it? Mainly Chair, but very much a GG ensemble fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is essentially a repost of a fic I wrote a long time ago that I posted on my ff.net account. I was asked to repost my GG fics onto ao3.
> 
> The timeline for Mistletoe Confessions is as follows: Chapter 1 takes place at the very end of Season 2, Episode 12, It's a Wonderful Lie, where Blair and Chuck decide to find each other dates to the Snowflake Ball and end up bringing a nearly identical doppelganger of themselves. At the end of the episode SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER (yes it aired like two years ago, but I want to be careful), Bart Bass is in a car accident and dies. This will not be happening. Instead, we see what could have happened if the accident hadn't occurred and Chuck hadn't gone off the deep end and Blair hadn't told Chuck she loved him at the funeral.

**Spotted: Notorious exes B and C dancing at the Snowflake Ball. Are they burying the hatchet for good? Or just into each other? With these two, even an abudance of Christmas spirit couldn't force them to call a truce.**

It all started with the stupid bet.

Blair wished she'd never even considered agreeing to Chuck's suggestion that they find each other dates for the Snowflake Ball. He'd baited her, and she'd let him, too ridiculously prideful to say no.

Since this was Chuck, and he was the only one she'd ever met who could equal her own manipulations, he'd used the bet to create a way in. Yes, it had only been a tiny hole, tinier than he should have been able to wiggle through, but he was apparently more flexible than she'd given him credit for.

"And what do we have, Chuck? You tell me," she demanded, more angry at herself than she was at him. Angry that after all these months, she still wished that things different between them. Angry that they could never be different. He was still the same incredibly emotionally retarded man he'd been back then. Nothing had changed, except that right now, she was too weak to walk away.

"Tonight." His eyes were dark and inscrutable as he gazed at her, and Blair felt her defenses weakening even further. She'd never been the kind of girl who was alright with short-term encounters, but they both knew that whatever it was they shared, it wasn't meaningless. No matter how utterly bizarre tonight had been, the same intense regret she'd felt all evening had been reflected in his expression—just like it was now.

"So shut up, and dance with me."

Blair wanted to believe that she could turn him down if she'd wanted to, but she knew better. Holding her head high, she took his hand as if she could care less whether he'd asked or not, but of course he saw right through her.

Blair realized it then; he wasn't ever going to stop wanting to ask, and she wasn't ever going to stop wanting to say yes.

"Have you decided what you'd like for Christmas?" Chuck asked smoothly, pulling her even closer, until Blair's fingers dug into the rough sequins of his tuxedo jacket. She'd been meaning to tell him the entire evening how ridiculously obscene this particular sartorial choice was, but she'd been far too absorbed in the unfolding mini-drama of their doppelgangers to say so.

"Not particularly," she told him, her chin finally coming to rest on his shoulder. The part of her brain that was still capable of coherent thought kept telling her that this was the worst idea she'd had in a while, but she couldn't seem to break free of him, of the spell he cast around her. His hands slid down the back of her dress, until they verged on the same tasteless level of his jacket, but she said nothing. What would be the point? He was Chuck Bass, and he would never change.

"Seeing as finding you a date was so easy, I used some of my free time to put some thought into your gift this year."

"I didn't realize that Chuck Bass  _did_ Christmas," Blair said slyly.

"When," Chuck murmured, his lips grazing her ear, "are you going to realize that when it comes to you, all bets are off."

Despite how amazing it felt to finally let him touch her, Blair pulled back a little so she could glare at him properly. "Does that mean you're conceding, then?"

"You know very well I'm not. Now, are you going to let me tell you about your gift?"

He knew her too well. She wanted to tell him to go to hell, but he'd also used the magic word, and her insatiable curiosity demanded she find out exactly what he'd chosen for her.

"If it's as appropriate as your choice of dates, then perhaps I  _don't_ want to know." Her voice could have frozen water, but he merely chuckled.

"Blair, play nice. We both know you're dying to know what I selected for you."

"Fine," she ground out, digging her fingertips into his shoulders much harder than was entirely necessary. "I'll permit you to enlighten me."

"You asked earlier why we couldn't work it out," Chuck said, smoothly transitioning their moving bodies into the next song. Blair realized, her brain descending into that particular fog-like haze that Chuck always induced in her, that she'd already danced with him for a whole song, and now a second was starting. This was bad news. One dance was permissible, two was indicative of clinging. "I wasn't aware we wanted to work it out."

Blair tensed, neatly caught in her own trap.

_The reason we can't say those three words to each other isn't because they aren't true. I think we both know, the moment we do, it won't be the start of something, it'll be the end._

"Right," she said, forcing her voice to stay even and calm. "I forgot. What we like is this."

"Blair—" Chuck said, but Blair knew she didn't want to hear another word— _couldn't_ hear another word—gift or no gift. She released him and wrenched her body away from his.

"No," she hissed. "I don't want to hear it. I'm sick of hearing how we can't be together. No more."

"Blair," he tried again, catching her arm in his hand, before she could completely turn away from him and run again. "You need to hear me out."

She stared up into his eyes, as dark as hers.  _A dark consort for a dark Queen._ It was on nights like tonight, when the darkness threatened to envelop her, that Blair wished she could find her way back into the light again.

"No," she said unsteadily. "I believe I've heard all I need to." And she turned and walked away.

* * *

Blair didn't sleep. She tossed and turned all night, the ghost of Chuck's hands on her skin keeping her awake and restless.

When Dorota came to wake her in the morning, her eyes were still wide open. "Miss Blair, time to get dressed," the faithful maid said. "You have visitor."

"Who?" Blair asked suspiciously, sliding her arms into her silken white robe. "It's still early." Unlike the rest of her friends, Blair believed in rising with the sun and not wasting the opportunities daylight presented. Besides, it was only a week until Christmas, and she still had a number of presents to buy. Blair Waldorf was renowned in the Upper East Side for her gift-giving skills, but she had no intention of resting on her laurels. This year, she'd already decided, would have to be an even more fabulous Christmas than last year. Of course, last year hadn't exactly been fabulous. She'd spent the entire holiday terrified that Chuck would confess their sordid affair to Nate.

Dorota was rambling about something, half in Polish, half in English and Blair ignored her as she mentally castrated Chuck yet again for his numerous flaws as a human being. ". . . he say he will not leave until he see Miss Blair. I tell him to wait, that she is not awake yet. And Mr. Chuck, he  _wait_ , Miss Blair."

"What?" Blair squeaked, the number of times Dorota saying Chuck's name finally penetrating her castration planning. "He's  _here_?"

"Well, yes, Miss Blair. I  _told_ you . . ." Dorota launched into another rambling explanation as Blair rushed over to the mirror and attempted to smooth her hair. It was useless. After her sleepless night, she looked like death warmed over. She needed a long hot shower and a facial and at least ten bone dry cappuccinos before she could even think about seeing him.

"Just tell him. . .I'm not here. I'm asleep. I'm  _busy_. I don't want to see him."

"I already say those things. He say he prefer to wait for you." Dorota looked very proud of herself, but Blair rolled her eyes.

"Then you didn't try hard enough! Try again."

"Miss Blair," Dorota said with exaggerated patience, "he been waiting for  _six_ hours already."

"Six hours? You've got to be joking." Blair's jaw dropped, and her eyes grew round as saucers. "Chuck Bass doesn't wait for  _anyone_ for six hours."

"He wait, Miss Blair," Dorota said, clearly pleased that he hadn't given in and left. "He did sleep on couch. But I make him take shoes off first."

"You saved the upholstery but not my pride? You need to re-examine your priorities, Dorota."

"You will see him now, then?"

"No!" Blair yelled, realizing too late that her voice was likely to carry all the way down the stairs, right into the living room, where Chuck was no doubt sleeping, shoeless, on the sofa. "No," she hissed again. "Just. . .I don't know what you should tell him. Wait. No. Tell him to get out, or I'm going to call the police and demand a restraining order."

"The police? Don't you think you're being a bit hasty?" Chuck strolled into the room, his suit slightly crumpled, but otherwise looking totally unaffected by his six hour vigil. Blair told herself that she hated him on sight, but maybe she just hated what his appearance did to her stomach. Those damn butterflies were back, and they more ferocious than ever. All it had taken was a stupid bet and one and a half dances to make her want him all over again.

"Dorota," Blair said, her voice low-pitched and furious as she wrapped her robe tighter around her midsection, "could you please dial 911 and tell them there's an intruder in my residence?"

"Dorota, if you could please give us a moment. Blair and I have a matter of some importance to discuss," Chuck corrected smoothly, taking her arm and guiding her out the door. Before Blair could really realize what was even happening, Dorota was gone and she and the Basshole were facing off over her bed.

"You waited for six hours?" Blair decided to open with a salvo guaranteed to make him feel like an effing idiot for spending his entire night on  _her_ couch, waiting for  _her_  to emerge. She liked the flair it had. Six hours was indisputably significant, and clearly she held all the power if he was willing to wait that long.

"For the record, I was asleep for probably 90% of that time."

"On  _my_ couch, waiting for  _me_."

Chuck opened his mouth to argue with her, but then he took a deep breath, attempting to not lose his temper, which with Blair, was always a difficult proposition. "Blair, I don't want to fight about this. I had something important to say to you last night, and  _you_  never let me say it. That's why I spent the last six hours tossing and turning on your couch."

"Well, then, I'm  _waiting_." Blair crossed her arms over her chest and pasted a bored expression on her face, though in reality, she was thrilling with what must be so incredibly important that he'd been willing to camp out in her living room just so he could tell her.

"It's your Christmas present," Chuck said. "I discovered what I wanted to give you while I was finding you the perfect date."

"By  _my_ date, you mean the boy that couldn't keep his hands off  _your_ date?" Blair was so affronted that he couldn't help but chuckle at her indignity.

"The date was a ruse," he admitted. "I knew you wouldn't like him. He was me, but not  _enough_ like me. The whole point was to prove to you that if there's a perfect date out there for you, it's the  _real_ Chuck Bass."

"You've done your job then," Blair snapped. "Now explain to me what this has to do with my Christmas present before I have Dorota throw you out."

Chuck took another deep breath, knowing once he said the words, he could never take them back. "Last night, you said that everyone could work it out except for us. Maybe that's not true. Maybe we haven't been trying."

"That's my Christmas present? You insulting me by saying I never tried to make it work? You're the one who abandoned me in Tuscany!"

Chuck held up a hand to stop her, and skirted around the bed, to reach for one of her hands. "I know. I messed up. These last few months have all been me messing up. But I'm done doing that. I'm conceding to you, Blair. Tuscany was a huge mistake, I've apologized for it before, but to put it behind us once and for all, I'd like you to come with me. Somewhere we can be alone, somewhere we can figure out how to make this work."

Her heart was beating so rapidly, Blair was certain that he could hear it in the still, quiet room. She had never expected Chuck of all people to make this kind of grand gesture. But then, she realized, that was what he did. He screwed up, and then after all his other machinations and manipulations failed, he appeared with some incredibly romantic, monumental proof that he wanted her after all. The question, Blair thought as he intertwined their fingers together, was whether she was going to let him this time.

She'd let him at Lily and Bart's wedding; that incredible, spur of the moment speech about forgiveness and tenacity and never giving up. She'd never forgotten it or the way she'd felt as his dark eyes had sought her out, telling her everything she'd needed to know. It was impossible to deny that she felt something very similar now, but this time the stakes were higher. This time she knew she loved him—she knew it the very fiber of her being, in the marrow of her bones—and if he didn't love her the same way, their relationship would be doomed from the start.

Blair cleared her throat, and looked up at him. "Does that mean you're prepared to say it?"

"Three words, eight letters," Chuck said, rubbing the sensitive skin of her inner wrist with his thumb. "I'm ready to say them to you, but I want to prove it first. With my actions, not just by the words alone. Will you let me?"

Blair was dying to let him convince her, but she couldn't be sure  _until_ he said the words. She wanted to tell him to just say them now, because deep down, she thought he might be bluffing and he couldn't after all. But the accusation stuck in her suddenly tight throat.

"What do you have in mind?" she said instead.

"Bart just purchased some new property in upstate New York. A rustic, yet luxurious ski lodge perfect for a romantic Christmas celebration for two. Come with me."

Her heart wanted to melt, but she stayed firm. "I'm not sure. I'll have to take it under consideration. If you're worth me traveling all the way upstate."

Chuck's composure was beginning to crack, and Blair could see the impatience and the panic beginning to show. "Don't think," he said, grasping her hand and pulling her in towards him. "Just say yes."

"But Serena . . ." Blair hesitated.

"Serena's on her way to Buenos Aires, remember? With that unwashed miscreant artist?"

"Serena actually isn't." Blair and Chuck looked up from each other, shocked to see the blonde standing there. Unless Stephen Hawking had discovered how to exist in two places simultaneously, Serena definitely wasn't in Buenos Aires.

"S! What are you doing here?" Blair rushed over to her friend's side and wrapped her arms around her. "I thought you were leaving?"

"I couldn't go," Serena confessed, tossing her purse and her hat on Blair's dresser. "Dan and I. . ."

Blair could feel Chuck's eyes roll from across the room, and she was sure her expression was similar. "Dan. Again? Is that really wise?"

Serena crossed her arms over her chest and looked mulishly defensive. "We haven't decided anything. Only that we've decided to spend the holidays together. Like you two appear to be doing."

"That isn't official yet," Blair snapped. "I'm not sure I can leave New York."

"Don't be ridiculous, Blair," Chuck said, walking over to stand with them. "This isn't an open invitation that you can accept anytime. I'm asking you  _once_ to go with me, to work things out."

Blair glanced over at Serena, who was smiling and clearly enthusiastic about the whole idea, and she  _wanted_ to feel the same. But all she felt was a horrible, gnawing fear that by saying yes she would be giving herself up for Chuck to trample on all over again. She remembered so clearly what he'd said during the disastrous White Party at the end of the summer. The beginning of all this ridiculous  _three words, eight letters_ crap.

_I was scared; scared if we spent a whole summer together, just us, you'd see . . .me._

She hadn't understood what he'd meant then, hadn't understood how deep you could fall for someone. After all, she'd been with Nate forever, and she'd thought she'd plumbed all the depths of love that you could. But whatever she and Chuck had, it was different, and it was infinitely deeper. She could stay here, mostly but not completely in love with him, or she could go with him for Christmas, and fall so deeply in love with him that she would never be able to pull herself out.

"I can't," Blair managed, her tongue thick and heavy in her mouth. "I can't. Not the two of us. But. . ." she paused, and saw the numbness begin to seep into Chuck's eyes—a symptom of her apparent rejection. "But, what if we brought some other people with us? We could still talk but there would be less. . .pressure. It would be easier."

"Are you saying you're too chicken, Waldorf?"

She was absolutely saying she was too chicken, but she couldn't ever admit that to him. To Serena, maybe. But to Chuck, never. "No. I just don't want to leave Serena alone at Christmas. And she wouldn't want to leave Dan."

"And what about Dan?" Serena piped up, her sunny smile breaking through the tension. "Perhaps he could come too?"

"Humphrey?" Chuck looked appalled at the idea of Brooklyn coming along on his romantic Christmas getaway for two, and Blair wasn't sure she blamed him, but at the same time, she just couldn't trust him enough.

"It'll be fun," Blair said with as much pseudo-cheer as she could infuse into her voice. She'd never imagined ever being cheerful about Dan Humphrey before, but she supposed there was a first time for everything. "A Christmas house party. The house  _is_ big enough, right Chuck?"

Chuck still looked stunned. Blair decided that this had been a very smart idea; she'd never seen him look so confused before. There was nothing like turning his plans sideways to convince him who the real powerhouse in the relationship was.

Not that they were in a relationship. At least not yet anyway.

"Chuck?" Serena prompted.

"Oh yes. Definitely big enough. Invite whomever," he said smoothly, snapping out of his shock. But his eyes told a totally different story than his words.

"Oh, I will," Blair said sweetly. "That's so nice of you to offer."

"Blair," Chuck hissed as Serena dug in her purse for her cell phone and walked off to a corner of Blair's bedroom, no doubt to invite the entire UES to spend Christmas with them. "You know this wasn't what I had in mind."

"It's what  _I_ had in mind, Bass. I'm not ready to go on a solo vacation with you. But I'll still go up there and we can still have our discussion. I'm amenable to that part of the plan."

"Fine," he ground out. "But just so you know, you just invited  _Brooklyn_ to spend the holidays with us."

"Believe me, I'm aware of it. Maybe he'll get cold feet and decide he can't handle Serena," she said innocently, taking a step closer to him. "Maybe you could suggest that to him. Strongly."

Chuck laughed, and Blair was relieved to see that he was taking this better. Even Brooklyn. "You invited him, Waldorf. I'm not getting involved."

"So when do we leave?" Serena said, approaching Blair and Chuck again. "I just called Nate, because I figured he should be there too. And he's insisting on bringing Vanessa."

"Vanessa?" Blair ground out. "Seriously?"

"Nate is insisting."

Blair sent Chuck a look. "You need to talk some sense into him."

"Believe me, I've tried."

"Vanessa's not so bad," Serena valiantly defended.

Blair rounded on her. "Not so bad in small, five second increments. But for a whole week? I would rather . . . "

"Rather what, Waldorf?" Chuck asked with a smirk. "Go upstate alone with me?"

"No," Blair snapped. "Fine. Vanessa is welcome too."

"We're leaving tonight. Pack your bags," Chuck said, reaching out to stroke Blair's cheek, as Serena turned back to her cell phone, no doubt calling Nate back to tell him that even Vanessa was permitted to join them.

"Tonight? So soon?" She still had shopping to do, and now she'd have to pack. Or tell Dorota what to pack.

"I'll be here with the limo at 7. Be ready, Waldorf."

"You know I'm always ready for you, Bass."

"You'd better be, because you have no idea what you're in for." With this pronouncement, Blair watched Chuck disappear out the doorway.

Serena walked over to Blair, who was still staring at his retreating back. "So we leave tonight?"

Blair nodded, and then turned towards Serena, fear written on her face. "Tell me I did the right thing, S." Her voice sounded scared and unsure but she couldn't hide it anymore, especially not in front of her best friend.

Serena wrapped her arms around her in a quick reassuring hug. "It was a big decision. You two have so much history, I think it's a good idea to take it slow."

"So I take it that Dan and Nate and Vanessa are duly informed and are planning to accompany us," Blair said bitterly as she slipped out of her robe and disappeared into her closet.

"Oh yeah. It's lucky that nobody had any plans that they couldn't break," Serena said, fingering a strand of pearls on Blair's dresser. "Dan especially sounded excited."

"S, of course he's excited. He's clearly never gotten over you, and now instead of you flying off to Buenos Aires with Aaron, you're spending Christmas with him."

"Not really  _with_ him. And I get why you said what you did to Chuck. It's a huge step."

Blair reappeared in the closet doorway. "I know. And this way, the pressure's off. We don't have to spend every single minute together. Maybe we can retain some. . .frame of reference. . .instead of rushing off into the deep end."

"But B, maybe that's what Chuck wants."

"Don't be ridiculous. Chuck's terrified of the deep end. He wants to dip his toe in the kiddie section."

"So what you're saying is that we're all going with you two so that  _you_ don't throw yourself into the deep end."

Blair paused, as she pulled a brush through her hair, and looked up at her best friend. "I knew you'd understand. I just can't do it alone, not until I'm sure he's there with me. He couldn't even say the words today. He insisted he  _could,_ but that he wanted to wait until he'd demonstrated that he really meant them. As if he could say them if he  _didn't_. He can't even say them when he  _does_ mean them," she scoffed.

"He does, B, I  _know_  he loves you. He looks at you like you're the only woman in the universe."

"And still I ended up in Tuscany alone. This," Blair said, "is why I'm hedging my bets this time around. He can't get cold feet if we're all going."

"So you still don't believe him," Serena said sadly, and Blair wanted to shake her. Didn't anyone understand how difficult it had been for her not to  _throw_ herself at that motherchucker? It was taking all her vaunted self-control to stay strong and stay in control.

"No," Blair snapped. "Not precisely. The jury's still out."

"If you really think that spending a romantic Christmas with snow and sleighs and hot cocoa and evergreen trees is going to prevent you from falling any harder for Chuck, you're insane, B. It doesn't matter  _who_ comes along to distract you. In any case, I have some shopping to do if we're going to leave tonight. I'll see you later."

Serena picked up her purse and leaned in to give Blair another quick hug. "It'll be okay. It'll be  _more_ than okay. It'll be  _great_ ," she murmured in her ear before she was gone, in a whirlwind of certainty and blond hair.

**It appears Scrooge has finally vacated the penthouse, leaving Chuck Bass, repetant and romantic, in his place.**   **Will B and C finally work out their differences or will their entourage distract them from making up before the New Year? Stay tuned, Upper East Siders, I think this one's going to be a snow fight worth watching.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Spotted: C taking B for the ride of her life-or at least of her holiday-in his limo. Is our favorite pair of star-crossed lovers finally ready to untangle? I'd say yes, except as is tradition in the UES, their Christmas party for two was crashed.**

At 7 PM sharp, Blair looked around the foyer of the penthouse, counting her matched Louis Vuitton luggage as Dorota carried in the last suitcase. "Is that the last of it, Dorota?"

"Yes, Miss Blair. Five total."

"Excellent. I knew you could do it." Actually, Blair hadn't been sure at all. There had been so much to do and so little time that they'd been forced to communicate via cell phone—Dorota packing while she shopped for presents and picked up last minute necessities.

"When Miss Blair say she have to go away for Christmas  _tonight_ —she think that I will not be able to pack in time. But I get it all done,  _while_ Miss Blair is shopping."

"Of all the miracles you've performed, Dorota," Blair said, smiling, "I think this is perhaps your best." With everything ready for the trip (hopefully) and Chuck probably already downstairs with the limo, Blair couldn't even muster up the anal retentiveness to go over the packing list with Dorota. If anything had been forgotten, she'd just have to do without for the next week.

"Truthfully, I frustrated I could not find Mister Chuck a better date for Snowflake Ball. And today, I make up for it and make Miss Blair smile."

Blair looked up from her Chanel bag. "Dorota, it's alright," she said sincerely. "Actually, I'm glad we couldn't find the right date for Chuck. Maybe you were right after all. Maybe who we were really looking for was . . .me."

Dorota gave her a knowing smile. "I will not say told you so, Miss Blair. But I will say Merry Christmas." She was at once so incredibly dear and so familiar that Blair couldn't help but wrap her arms around her, feeling all Dorota's love and affection seep into her skin.

"And you're sure you'll be alright here, alone?" Just as Blair knew that her only _real_  family was Dorota, Dorota's only family in New York was her, and it felt wrong somehow to leave her all alone. She'd briefly considered bringing Dorota along, but since she'd already tripled the number of guests on this trip, she felt bad adding yet another.

Of course, this was Chuck, and no doubt he would find some loophole in the protection Blair had arranged.

"I will be fine, Miss Blair. Besides, Miss Eleanor and Mr. Cyrus come home Christmas Eve."

The elevator door opened behind them, and Blair turned to see Chuck, dressed in a dark suit, strut into the foyer. It appeared that whatever he'd done in the last ten hours had been enough to get both his swagger and his smirk back—even if she  _had_  turned him down for his romantic getaway for two.

"Blair. Punctual as always. And Dorota, Merry Christmas; I'm hoping that Blair didn't run you ragged today."

"Only you would care, Bass," Blair snapped, feeling her hackles unknowingly rise at the way that Chuck greeted Dorota first, taking up her hand to brush a kiss over it. Normally, she liked it when the Basshole demonstrated good breeding and manners—which didn't happen all that frequently—but it stung that he'd barely even acknowledged her presence before fawning all over  _Dorota_.

He hadn't even technically  _spoken_ to her yet, Blair fumed, except to mention the fact that she was on time, which was an event so commonplace it was hardly worth remarking on. _She_ was the one he'd insisted he  _loved_ , though of course he could hardly be bothered to say the words, and  _she_ was the one who he was supposed to be proving himself to. If this was the way he intended to go about it, Blair decided, then it was a useless formality doomed to end in disaster.

She cleared her throat loudly, interrupting the stream of sweet, charming nothings that Chuck was no doubt purring into Dorota's ear. "Fetch my luggage, will you, Bass?" She arched an eyebrow as he looked up at her, clearly amused by her annoyance.

"The driver will be right up," he said smoothly, prowling over to where she stood. She hadn't actually expected him to fetch anything—after all, he was Chuck Bass and he didn't even understand the concept of 'fetching.' "And what's got your La Perlas in a twist? A hectic day?"

Blair wanted to rant that he had given her absolutely  _no_ time to get ready—he knew how much advance warning she needed before she went away, especially when it was for a major holiday—but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Instead, she merely smiled. "Actually no. Dorota and I had everything under control."

"I'd expect nothing less from the Queen B, but chances are nobody else is as organized as you," Chuck said, reaching for her hand this time. Blair wanted to snatch it away, not let him get away with the same act he'd pulled with Dorota, but it was already too late. Once his fingers were on her skin, it was always too late, and she couldn't trust herself to do anything she knew she should. "What do you want to bet that Serena's late? Or Nate?"

"Serena couldn't be on time if her life depended on it. Nate either," Blair said as his lips brushed over the inside of her wrist. Even though he'd played at nearly the same thing with Dorota only a minute before, it felt different with her—scorchingly intimate—and Blair couldn't help the slideshow of pictures that flipped through her mind of the two of them together.

"Good thing that we aren't waiting for them, then."

Blair tensed. "What do you mean? They're coming with us!"

Chuck gave her a pointed look as he let her hand go, gathering up one of her suitcases himself. Blair secretly loved the way he looked carrying her bag, as if they were  _really_ going away together. "Do you really think that we could fit the six of us,  _plus_ all the luggage in my limo?"

"An excellent point," Blair recovered.

"We'll go in my limo, and the rest will follow in another car."

"Just us in your limo?" Blair squeaked, too surprised to modulate her voice so Chuck wouldn't know how completely he affected her.

He turned back, a knowing smile on his face. "You have a problem with that Waldorf?"

Blair wanted to tell him  _yes,_ that they had an undeniable history in limos— _his_ limo in particular—and that the idea of spending several hours alone with him, in the exact place she'd succumbed to him the first time, was terribly ill-advised. But Chuck had that insufferably smug smile on his face, clearly just  _waiting_ for her to mention the occasion of her deflowering, so she shut her lips together tightly and smiled back.

"Absolutely not. That sounds like a wonderful plan." She would just have to stay  _far, far_ away from him—as far as she possibly could. If they truly wanted to work things out, they had to stop themselves from succumbing to their physical desires, and Chuck being Chuck, that particular aspect would definitely be all up to her.

"Shall we go then?" he asked, offering her his free arm. She took it, closing her fingers around the fine wool of his suit jacket, and she couldn't help but glow up at him. As terrifying as this whole adventure was, she couldn't help the feeling that just  _maybe_ ,  _finally_ , she was going to get exactly what she wanted from Chuck. Nothing, if she could help it, was going to go wrong this time.

"Bye, Dorota. Merry Christmas!" Blair called as they swept into the elevator. She caught a glimpse of their reflections in the shiny gold doors as they clanged close and she couldn't help but admit that they made a very fine looking couple. Chuck's dark suit and red tie coordinated perfectly with her red cashmere coat and black Prada boots and their dark hair was almost the exact same shade.

"We look good together," he murmured in her ear, as if he could read her mind.

She had to nod in agreement, surprised that though she'd been hearing it for almost ten years now—"Blair, darling, stand next to Charles. You two look so lovely together," was a common refrain in almost every group picture they'd ever taken together—she'd never personally seen it until tonight. Maybe, she mused as the elevator doors opened into the marble-floored lobby, she'd never seen it because she hadn't wanted to; had never wanted to acknowledge the fact that the Golden Prince hadn't ever been right for her, but instead his darker, much more devious best friend was.

It was snowing when they stepped outside, the flakes big and fat and fluffy. Self-consciously, though the trip from the door to the limo was only a few steps, she let go of Chuck's arm and raised her hands to protect her hair.

"Don't," Chuck said softly, reaching up and pulling her hands down. "You look so beautiful with the snow in your hair."

This was the kind of thing that Blair had heard from him often during the week before the Tuscany disaster, and that nobody ever believed when she described it, but here it was again—and from the expression on Chuck's face, Blair was almost certain he meant it.

"Thank you," she murmured, and their eyes met, the snow falling around them like a veil. Blair could tell that he wanted to kiss her, but they were still in New York, and that meant Gossip Girl and all the baggage they hadn't let go of yet. Besides, he hadn't said the words, and so Blair turned away, breaking the moment.

The limo was a dark cavern, the inside lights dimmed almost to the point of blackness. Blair slid in, the leather seat soft as butter as she settled herself almost against the opposite door. She tried to ignore the fact that she was sitting on almost the exact place that she's surrendered her virginity to him over a year ago, but it was impossible. The images flickered through her mind again, and she remembered exactly the way she'd felt the first time he'd put his hands on her.

Chuck got in, the door shutting softly behind him. "Your luggage is taken care of," he said, brushing snow off his hair. "We should be there in about three hours, barring any real traffic or weather issues."

"Have you checked the forecast?" Blair asked, glancing out the window at the rapidly falling snow. "It's snowing fairly hard here."

Chuck pulled his phone from his pocket and clicked a few buttons. "Hmmmmm," he said noncommittally, and Blair knew him well enough to know that this type of response was bad news.

"What is it?"

"Apparently there's a fairly large cold front coming in from the Atlantic. We'll have a white Christmas," Chuck said, smiling up at her, like the two of them were sharing a secret that nobody else was privy to. "You love white Christmases."

Blair did, and she was about to tell him that she was continually surprised by how observant he was and how nobody ever noticed that about him, when his phone rang.

He sent her an apologetic look. "It's Nate," he said in explanation, and answered it. "Nate, my man. Is the car there?"

Blair settled back into the seat as Chuck spoke to Nate on the phone, a flash of annoyance crossing over his face. " _What?_  I don't think. . .well. . .if he insists." With a final grimace, he hit the end button on his phone and tossed it between them on the seat.

"Good news," Chuck said sarcastically. "Little J is also joining us, thanks to Humphrey's insistence. And so is Erik, though I don't mind him nearly as much as her."

Blair wasn't happy about this either—her small protective group had turned into an army. "I never thought I would say this to you, Bass, but perhaps you were right."

"Right about what, Waldorf?" He deftly unbuttoned his overcoat and under the cover of removing it, slid a little closer on the seat. Another image gripped her—this time of her, moving towards him after the night at Victrola, their eyes never leaving each other's faces. She remembered the magnetic pull of him like it was yesterday, and as she glanced over at him, eyeing the closing distance between them, she wondered if they were about to re-enact the memory that wouldn't dim.

"I didn't know it would turn into this," she confessed. "I know you. . . .you wanted something else. When you asked me, you had a different idea in mind for this trip."

Chuck shrugged, as if he didn't mind in the least, even though the entire much-loathed Brooklyn contingent was accompanying them. "It wasn't what I had in mind, no, but I think it'll be fine."

"Fine," Blair said a little bitterly, suddenly wondering if going from 'romantic' to 'fine' was going to mean she wouldn't get her happy ending after all.

"Trust me," he said smoothly, moving even closer, until it felt as if all the air in the limo had been sucked out. "They'll keep each other preoccupied. And we'll be able to do whatever we like."

Blair swallowed hard. "And what would that be, Bass?"

His smile was nearly feral. "Oh, I have a few ideas."

She knew from the glint in his eye that he was thinking of the last time they'd been alone in this limo together, just the way she was, and Blair wondered if she could even hold out until they left Manhattan.

"I meant it, Chuck. I'm sorry it turned out this way." She could already see it happening; the trip devolving into a Chuck and Blair friends with benefits tour, instead of what she wanted—what she  _needed_ —which was romance and an affirmation of how he felt about her.

_Three words, eight letters_.

They hung in the air between them, ever-present yet still unsaid. "I'm not sorry," he finally said. "I screwed up last time. You have every right to protect yourself until I prove that I'm capable of anything else."

"Are you?" she said so softly she wasn't sure he could even hear it.

"Am I what, Blair?" He moved closer, until their legs brushed, but instead of doing what she'd anticipated—going for a quick Chuck-like grope or even a kiss-he merely intertwined their fingers together.

"Capable of anything else." She couldn't meet his eyes. The moment felt unbearably loaded, as if the conversation could detonate in their faces any second. And why should she even be surprised if it did? It always had before. They had never managed to discuss this without utterly destroying what lay between them.

"I hope so. I  _want_ to be. But only for you." His voice was husky and she looked up at him, afraid she'd see something that would ruin the moment, but instead, all she could see was love.

He hadn't said it, but her heart trembled anyway. She had never seen it reflected so clearly before, never so obviously for her to see. He had always hidden it away from her inquisitive stare, but now he laid it bare before her, and she tightened her grip on his hand.

"Chuck and Blair holding hands," she said with a rueful smile, glancing down at their connected fingers. "I thought you decided we couldn't ever do that."

"I thought we couldn't," he told her. "But we're Chuck and Blair—why can't we make our own rules?"

Blair let her head rest on his shoulder. "We always have."

"I thought you might say that," Chuck said, reaching over her body, his fingers drifting so close—but so far away—from her jean-clad thigh, and rummaging in the compartment next to her door. His hand emerged with a small black remote. "And so I decided we might as well make our own rule for this too." He clicked a button and a flat screen descended from the ceiling in front of them.

"I had this installed especially for us," Chuck said, "because while 'Chuck and Blair go to the movies' might be cliché, Chuck and Blair watching a movie in my limo isn't."

"It had better be Audrey," Blair insisted, but her words lost their normal bite because she couldn't stop  _beaming_ at him. She was dying to see Serena's face when she divulged this particular romantic gesture—and it was undeniably, unbelievably romantic. Blair snuggled a little farther into him, his arm slipping around her shoulders, pulling her even closer.

"Just wait and see," he said as he pushed anther button and the DVD began.

The opening warnings were almost finished flashing across the screen when Chuck's phone rang again, and Blair was fairly sure he swore under his breath when he glanced at the screen.

"Nathaniel, I leave you in charge of the smallest thing," Chuck bit off into the phone, "and you can't even manage that."

He frowned, and Blair couldn't help but smile at his obvious frustration with his best friend. At this point, Chuck should know better than to give Nate any kind of responsibility. "Then  _make_ it fit. Tell Serena that we're going to a  _lodge,_ not Fashion Week in Paris."

Chuck listened for barely half a second before interrupting again. "Be a man and tell her to leave it behind. No, we are  _not_ —my god, Nathaniel. Grow a pair." He paused again, exasperation apparent in his voice. " _Fine_. You should know, Blair is not going to be happy."

He clicked the phone off and turned to her. "Let me guess," she said, amusement lacing her voice, "Nate won't man up and tell Serena to leave behind one of her many trunks."

"My dear sister," Chuck drawled, "is worse than you and I put together."

"So what exactly am I going to be unhappy about?"

"We have to turn around, and pick up both Serena  _and_ Humphrey. Serena because her luggage is taking up too much room, and Humphrey because she won't leave him behind."

He pressed the intercom and relayed the new instructions to the driver while Blair rolled her eyes. "I've told her again and again that loyalty is overrated."

"I'm just sorry," Chuck said, raising their interlocked hands to brush a kiss on her skin, "that we won't have any privacy while we watch our movie."

"Does that mean you had  _other_ plans for the movie?" Blair asked archly.

"You'll never know now," Chuck smirked, but Blair knew he'd definitely had  _something_ in mind. This was Chuck Bass, after all, and he didn't plan to watch a movie in a limo—their  _infamous_ limo—without additional plans that involved clothing removal.

Her skin felt tight and hot at the thought, and Blair decided she was done letting him torture her without doing a little of her own right back.

"So that means no 'Chuck and Blair making out during the movie?'" Blair purred as she nuzzled the skin just above his collar, grazing the spot she knew he loved with her teeth.

He literally shuddered under her fingers as she slid her hands across his chest. "Blair," he murmured, "you're not playing nice."

"And this surprises you?" she said with a pout and a little nibble on his earlobe.

"Absolutely not, though I've missed Bad Girl Blair—Queen B has been giving me the cold shoulder for too long," Chuck murmured into her ear, the fingertips of his free hand trailing behind her hair, just barely skimming over the nape of her neck.

"Perhaps you deserved it," Blair said, trying not to shiver with pleasure.

"Perhaps I did. And will Bad Girl Blair punish me for my many sins?"

"Later," she said breathlessly. "She has to come up with a suitable punishment first."

Blair was certain that the two of them had reached the very end of their self-control just as the car stopped—she wasn't sure if it was excellent timing or not. Chuck's eyes were dark and intense as they fastened onto hers, and she hoped he was suffering nearly as much as she was.

"I'm going to go castrate Nathaniel," Chuck said casually as he unwrapped his arms from Blair and wrapped his scarf around his neck instead. "Don't lose that thought."

"I don't think I could," Blair said honestly, meeting his hot stare with heat of her own.

Chuck slid to the other side of the limo, his hand on the door handle. Blair had already switched her attention to the DVD, which had been playing away during their breathless exchange of sexual innuendos. " _White Christmas_ ," Blair growled as she realized what was playing, "is  _not_ Audrey."

He chuckled, low and sexy, and before she knew it, his hands were back in her hair, tangling in the long strands, cupping her head, as he kissed her hard and deep. Blair tensed with surprise for a single instant as his lips bruised hers, but this was  _Chuck and Blair_ and they fit together so perfectly that she melted into him as if it had only been moments, not ages, since they'd last kissed.

Her hands dug into his shoulders, into the luxurious wool of his coat, and let him ravish her the way she'd been dreaming of for all those lonely nights since those oh so brief and oh so amazing weeks last year. He pulled away rather suddenly, and Blair couldn't help but smile like the cat who'd finally gotten the cream as he rested his forehead on hers, breath coming in hard gasping pants.

"Couldn't resist, Bass?" she purred, trailing her fingers over his jawline. "And here I thought you had excellent self-control."

"Not with you, kitten, as you know very well. Now, behave yourself while I go deal with these imbeciles."

He slid away from her again, and Blair couldn't help but pout as he actually exited the limo this time, shutting the door firmly behind him.

She was making him crazy; her taste and her scent and the  _feel_ of her under his hands was intoxicating and Chuck hadn't had anything to drink all day. He shivered in the cold air, and he glared at the scene before him, annoyed that he'd been dragged away from his cozy, warm—no, make that  _hot_ —car ride with Blair because Nathaniel had typically failed at the task he'd set for him.

"Thank god, Chuck, you're here," Serena said, rushing over, her blond hair almost completely covered by a ridiculously towering white fur hat. "We need to get out of the city before we get stuck."

"Sis," Chuck drawled. "What's this I hear about your luggage?" He gestured to the huge Hummer limo idling behind the car he'd just stepped out of. "It's not as if you're hurting for room."

"I  _told_ her," Nate said, his normally easygoing voice beginning to sound annoyed. Chuck wasn't sure he blamed him; it was snowing hard, the wind whistling through the skyscrapers on either side of the Palace.

"Half of my bags are full of presents," Serena said stubbornly. "It's Christmas. I can't just leave them behind."

Chuck sighed, realizing that he was about to relinquish the privacy of his cozy love nest with Blair to Serena and Humphrey. "Fine. We'll take you and Dan, so the luggage will fit into the other car."

"Excellent," Serena said with a smile, grabbing Dan's hand and dragging him over to the limo door. "Thanks, Chuck."

He rolled his eyes at Nate, who looked decidedly annoyed now. "I tried to tell her, man, that you wanted the time alone with Blair, but apparently her romantic streak isn't a match for ten Louis Vuitton suitcases."

"You  _have_  met Serena Van Der Woodson before, right?" Chuck said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "We'll deal. After all, we have a week together. Don't worry about it."

"You're a good guy," Nate said, giving him a thump on the arm. "I'll see you in a few hours."

As Chuck supervised the last of Serena's luggage being packed into the Hummer, he thought of his best friend's words.  _A good guy_. He'd never considered himself that—that was and had always been Nate. Though, upon further contemplation, Nate had never really been all that  _good_ either. Everyone had just thought so because he was the boy the ultimate good girl had picked to be her consort.

Now, with Blair and Nate long broken up, and the Queen B inevitably ending up with him, Chuck wondered if that automatically made him the good guy instead—or if maybe being with Blair just made him want to _be_ better.

When he finally was sure that everything was packed, he opened the limo door, shivering as he slid inside the warm car. Dan and Serena were wrapped around each other, and Dan had Serena's ridiculous fur hat perched crookedly on his head.

"Lovely," he murmured so quietly that probably only Blair, closest to him, could hear. She rolled her eyes and sent him a look as he unwrapped his scarf and told the driver via intercom that they were ready to leave.

As Chuck settled into his seat, the limo finally pulling away from the curb, Blair wrapped her hands possessively around his arm. "You would not  _believe_ them," she hissed into his ear. " _Already_."

Normally, he would have found his "sister's" obvious PDA with Humphrey mildly amusing verging on boring. But Blair was so outraged she was nearly vibrating with it, which was definitely a lot more interesting than whatever S and LonelyBoy were up to.

"And here I thought he was a prude," Chuck murmured into his ear. "S has clearly seduced him over to the dark side."

Blair sniffed as Dan's hand settled high on Serena's thigh. "I don't think it was all that difficult."

Serena chose this moment to come up for air. "Chuck," she squealed, "is that a TV? In your limo? How classy."

"Chuck and I were just about to watch  _White Christmas,_ " Blair said frostily, her voice daring anyone to argue with the choice of movie. Clearly, Chuck thought, amused as always by his royal B, she had conveniently forgotten her own dislike of Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye.

"It's not Audrey," she continued regally, with a imperious tilt to her chin, "but it  _is_ almost Christmas so it's both acceptable  _and_ appropriate."

"Is this a musical?" Dan asked skeptically, having found the DVD box near his seat. He was examining the back blurb with the same concentration he used to analyze Fitzgerald or Hemingway.

"Yes," Blair said haughtily, clearly wanting him to express just how he felt about musicals so she could give him a verbal smackdown.

"I don't know," Serena said skeptically. "You know I don't like musicals, Blair."

Chuck couldn't help but smirk as Blair pounced. "S. Humphrey.  _You're_ the interlopers here. So you get to watch whatever we decide, right Chuck?"

"I couldn't have said it any better, Waldorf," he agreed, brushing a kiss on the smooth skin of her cheek. Blair took the gesture with aplomb, settling back into his arms as if she'd never left, watching as Serena's jaw dropped at their united front.

"I suppose we could watch it," Dan stumbled. Blair rolled her eyes; could he be any more awkward? At least, Chuck thought, he wasn't both awkward  _and_ antagonistic, like Abrams.

"Chuck, you want to watch this? You do know, musicals mean singing. And dancing."

"I like dancing," he said casually, as his fingers played with the ends of Blair's dark curls. "It's one of my favorite pastimes, right Blair?"

She nodded, her face serene and haughty. "You could take a page from his book, Humphrey. Serena just  _loves_ to dance."

"Fine," Serena bit off, glaring at Blair, "we'll watch it."

"Damn right you will," Chuck murmured into Blair's ear.

Two hours later, the sounds of Humphrey's obnoxious snoring and Bing Crosby crooning about the Christmases he used to know filled the limo as it finally came to a halt. Chuck didn't want to investigate why they'd stopped because that would mean untangling himself from Blair and right now he was perfectly, groggily happy to be wrapped around her. If this was what being whipped meant, he'd be whipped any day of the week.

"You still awake, B?" he said, his arm asleep under Blair's twisted body.

"Huh uh," she mumbled, clutching him tighter as he tried to gently pull himself away from her arms.

"We've stopped. I need to see if we're there."

"Oh," she said, pulling herself up a little. "Is S still talking in her sleep?"

"Luckily, no. Now you on the other hand. . ." he grinned down at her as she blushed then hit him hard on the arm.

"I wasn't even  _dreaming_ , you Basshole, and I never talk in my sleep. That's S's thing."

"I just love to get you going, Waldorf," he smirked as he slid across the street and opened the door, only to yelp ummanfully as about a foot of icy snow fell into the car.

"Cold," Serena whined, burrowing deeper into Dan's shoulder. "Shut the door, Chuck."

"Just a second," he said, trying to brush as much snow as he could out of the limo. "What the hell is going on?" he asked into the intercom.

"We're having a little. . .difficulty . . .making it up the driveway, Mr. Bass."

"What exactly do you mean by a 'little difficulty'?" Chuck ground out.

"Sir, the driveway hasn't been cleared. Not for some time."

"But I sent servants up here  _twenty four hours_ ago. Why wouldn't they have cleared the driveway?"

"No idea, Mr. Bass, but I'm not sure we'll be able to drive up there in this."

Blair was definitely awake now—he could nearly  _feel_ her glare at the driver, even though his back was to her. "Explain," she snapped out. "I am  _not_ walking up to the house in my Prada boots."

"Nobody's walking up to the house," Chuck said. "We're driving."

"Actually, sir, that probably isn't going to be possible. I think we're stuck."

"Stuck? Who's stuck?" Serena asked groggily , raising herself from Dan's lap.

"We are, I think," Dan mumbled, through a mouthful of Serena's hair. "What's going on, Bass?"

"We're not stuck," Chuck insisted. "I'm going to go examine the situation. And for your information, Waldorf, this is a new pair of Gucci loafers."

"We're not stuck," Blair echoed. "And I'm coming with you."

"What about Prada?" Dan asked, only to receive a withering glare from the Queen B herself.

"Prada would rather spend five minutes figuring that we're  _not_ actually stuck than spend half an hour trudging up a snowy hill when it isn't necessary."

Chuck opened the door further, pushing hard against the wall of snow that seemed determined to take up permanent residence in the backseat of the limo. "It's going to be a tight squeeze," he said to Blair as he tried to shove the door open enough so he could exit.

"That better not be a comment on my size, Bass," Blair hissed under her breath as she followed him out of the limo, the slippery bottom of her high-heeled Prada boots sliding out from under her. She almost hit the ground, but Chuck caught her arm just in time and dragged her up. Carefully, they navigated through the nearly-waist deep snow to the path behind the limo that had been forcefully cleared as it drove.

"Bass," Blair said decisively, "I think we might be stuck." She glanced around the dark landscape, the lights of the limo giving just enough light to prove that as the driver had said, the driveway had definitely not been cleared.

"I really liked these loafers," Chuck mourned.

"I liked them too," Blair agreed. "And don't even get me started on my Prada boots. Eleanor won't be happy."

"I'm going to call and see what the  _hell_ is going on," Chuck said decisively, as Blair gingerly minced over to the door, deciding that if she was outside, then  _everyone_ had to be outside too.

Chuck held his cell to his ear, watching as Blair wrenched open the door and nearly pulled Serena out by her blond hair. "B!" she screeched, "I'm wearing  _flats_."

"Which was a  _stupid_ thing to wear," Blair said venomously. "You knew it was snowing."

"I didn't expect to actually have to  _walk_ in the snow," she said, glancing down at her ruined shoes.

"Too bad." Blair, while mourning her Prada boots and his Gucci loafers, apparently didn't have quite the same amount of sympathy for Serena's Tony Burch flats. Dan emerged next, his feet shod in some very Brooklyn, very un-designer boots. "Apparently Humphrey was the only one here who realized we could be roughing it."

"Glad to be of service," he said, and Chuck rolled his eyes, more annoyed at the fact that nobody was answering  _his_ call than at Brooklyn's lame charm.

Finally, someone picked up at the penthouse suite. "Bass residence," the smooth female voice said.

"This is Chuck Bass," he said snapped authoritatively, "and I'm afraid there's a problem. "I'm at the lodge in upstate New York, and there's  _nobody_ here."

"Oh, Mr. Bass. Didn't Mrs. Bass tell you? The servants never made it up to the lodge. They stayed in town, to work Mrs. Bass' holiday parties."

"Fuck," Chuck swore, savagely ending the call. He looked up to see Blair still trying to not fall on her butt in those ridiculous boots, and Serena, giving up the Tony Burch ghost in style, making snow angels.

"Apparently," he announced, "we're staff-less."

"What?" Blair screeched. "Does that mean. . . _nobody_ is at the house?"

"Does that mean we have to  _walk_ up to the house?" Serena whined, glancing down at her flimsy, already-waterlogged footwear.

"This is outrageous," Chuck said, not even bothering to answer either of them. "I'm going to make some more calls when we get to the house."

"And how do you propose we do that,  _brother_?" Serena hissed, apparently deciding that this occasion called for her finally returning his familial affection.

"I've got some extra boots in one of my suitcases," Blair said, unexpectedly taking this better in stride, as she slipped and slid around the side of the car, which Dan had just finished clearing. "We'll just have the driver open the trunk, and I'll find them."

"And how are we going to get our luggage up there?" Dan asked, having already faced the ten matched pieces of Serena's Louis Vuitton.

"Solutions, Humphrey, solutions," Blair said, grabbing onto the side of the limo for balance.

"I'm sure there are some shovels at the house," Chuck said. "We can shovel the drive."

Serena gave him a look. "You, Chuck Bass, are going to shovel a driveway?"

"Well, not me, obviously," he said with a smirk. "But I can supervise."

"And who exactly is going to be doing the shoveling?" Dan asked suspiciously, catching on faster than Chuck imagined he would.

"You. Nate. The driver. You're all so. . .athletic," he said, trying not to let the smile show on his face. This was just way too easy.

"Excuse me, I'm an emo poet slash beatnik hipster. Athletic isn't exactly my middle name."

"And? I'm Chuck Bass."

Dan paused, regrouping. "Good point. I suppose Nate and I can shove the driveway."

"The driver looks fairly robust," Blair announced, as the trunk popped open, "which is excellent news. And I'm sure that Nathaniel can shovel his weight in snow."

"How long is this driveway exactly?" Dan asked, his gaze searching the dark landscape for any kind of building.

"A mile? Two miles?" Chuck said casually.

Blair dropped the boot she was holding. " _Two miles_?"

"It's a lodge. Secluded," he explained, aware that everyone was staring at him like he'd just lost his mind. "Believe it or not, its location is part of its value."

"Bass," Blair said uncertainly, "I think you might have to do . . . _more_ than supervise."

"I don't think so. I'm the brains of the operation. Not the muscle."

"That's for sure," Blair said under her breath.

"Oh look," Serena said, pointing to some faraway lights that were slowly winding their way up the driveway. "I think everyone else is here. At least we can walk together to the house. And we'll have more manpower for the shoveling."

"Manpower?" Chuck asked, beginning to realize that it was probably going to take all of them, shoveling for hours, to clear the ridiculously long drive. "What about _woman_ power? Why do we men have to do it alone?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Serena and I wouldn't even know how to begin. Besides, men were created to do all the work." She waved her hand dismissively, as if the conversation was totally over.

"That's not what you said while you were riding me last year," Chuck smirked.

"Oh gross," Serena said. "I didn't want to know that."

"Maybe the Hummer won't get stuck," Blair said optimistically, trying to change the subject. "They use those in Afghanistan, right? Surely if they can mow down a crowd of armed rabble, they can make it through a little snow."

"Uh, Blair, I think it's already stuck," Dan said, gesturing to the way that the lights suddenly stalled a few hundred yards shy of their location.

"Yet more good news," Chuck said sarcastically. "I'm going to call Nate and tell him to get his ass up here before we have to spend all night shoveling."

"Oh, you're going to be at it all night," Blair said sarcastically. "Do you see it stopping any time soon?"

They all looked up at the sky, and nobody could deny that the flakes were falling just as hard and just as steadily as they had been for hours. "This is not good," Dan said awkwardly, speaking for the group.

"Thank you for that pointed insight, Humphrey," Blair snapped, wrapping a scarf around her neck, and another around her hair. "Serena, get those boots on. We're going to go get Nate and the rest. There's no point in standing around whining about how much this situation suddenly  _sucks_."

She went stomping off in the direction of the Hummer's stalled lights, and Chuck watched her as she disappeared. "You're just going to let her go off alone?" Serena asked, getting to her feet, her flats exchanged for a pair of Blair's boots.

"Where's she going to go?" Chuck yelled, spreading his arms. "Don't you  _get_ it yet, S? We're fucking  _stuck_. We're not going  _anywhere_ , anytime soon."

**Chuck, newly-crowned consort of our favorite Queen B didn't anticipate a Christmas** _**this** _ **white. They say love takes work, but I don't think our favorite Basshole thought it was going to be of the manual variety.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Spotted: Chuck Bass and Blair Waldorf already facing off, less than 6 hours into their romantic getaway for two-or for ten. The pressure's on for Mr. Bass to make this a holiday to remember. Will the Queen B get scrooged or can her beloved produce a Christmas miracle?**

"You're mad," Chuck stated, taking in every single molecule of Blair's tense posture. She'd been giving him the frigid shoulder ever since he'd recommended they wait in the limos while the drivers braved the snowy drive to find shovels at the house.

"Actually no. I'm furious," Blair snapped. "This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. At all."

"Believe me, this wasn't what I'd planned," Chuck murmured.

"And what did you plan exactly, Bass?" Blair asked, eyeing him from her vantage point in the corner of the limo.

"You. Me. A few bottles of '95 Dom. The hot tub. Among other things."

Blair swallowed hard, imagining the hot bubbles skimming her skin, followed by Chuck's hands. "Are we giving up on that plan?"

"We're not if we can ever get up to the lodge," Chuck said. "Which, where the hell are the drivers? They were supposed to be back with the shovels by now."

"Oh yes, I can't wait to  _shovel snow_. That trumps hot tubs any day of the week."

"Hot tub is still happening; we just have to shovel our way there," Chuck said. "Whenever those inept morons actually get back with the shovels."

Blair sighed and stared at the window into the darkness. "It'll be fine, B," Serena reassured her from the opposite seat, where she was sitting with Dan. "There'll be plenty of time for the hot tub later."

"I'll  _need_ the hot tub after this evening," Dan said.

"Who said you were invited, Brooklyn?" Chuck sneered from his side of the limo.

"Don't mind him," Blair said. "He gets a little touchy when things don't go his way."

"Or when I'm forced to perform physical labor," Chuck said.

There was a sharp rap on the limo window. Chuck hit the button to lower the window a lot harder than he needed to. "Yes?" he snapped.

It was Nate. "Shovels are here. Tell the girls that it's time to see them in action."

"Girls?" Dan asked. "What about me?"

Chuck shut the window. "He  _was_ referring to you," he said.

* * *

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Blair said, gingerly holding the shovel Nate had just handed her between two of her fingers.

"B, it's just a shovel," Serena said. "And you're wearing leather gloves."

"Lined in cashmere. If I lose a finger because of this weather, I'll never forgive Chuck."

"That's not true. We both know that you'd forgive Chuck just about anything. You even forgave him for Tuscany and his bevy of foreign beauties from last summer," Serena said, rolling her eyes.

Blair glared at her best friend. "I haven't necessarily forgiven him for that. Besides, I'm fairly sure on a scale of terrible crimes that Bass has perpetrated against me, this might rank above Tuscany."

"Blair, be serious," Serena said. "It's not so bad. The more we all help, the sooner we can get up to the lodge with our luggage and you and Chuck and go into the hot tub, just like he'd planned. At least he's  _here,_ which is more than you could say for Tuscany."

"I wonder what else he has planned," Blair wondered as she actually deigned to put a  _third_ finger onto the dirty shovel handle.

"Aaaaaand that's where this conversation ends," Serena said with a disgusted shiver. "I've never understood you two. I'm supportive of you always, you know that, but I don't want to  _ever_ think about you and Chuck that way."

Blair shrugged, flipping a strand of hair over her shoulder. "I had to watch you and Dan making out all over the limo for  _hours_. After that, I think I'm entitled to a little supposition on what Chuck might have had planned for us."

"I think you're selling him a little short, B, if you really honestly think that Chuck is going to take this lying down and not do everything in his not inconsiderable power to turn the trip around. He  _is_ a Bass."

"I suppose you're right. I should be staying positive and hmmm, let's say. . . _encouraging_  him to try his hardest, don't you think, S?" Blair turned around towards where the boys were grouped together, trying to formulate their plan of attack.

Serena smirked at Blair's innocent tone. "And what did you have in mind, Queen B?"

"First off, we should really be taking this time to appreciate what we have, don't you think?" Blair said sweetly. "We're going to go watch them shovel. Despite that Bass claims not to enjoy anything athletic, he has a rather admirable body. And Nathaniel, well, we all know about that. I'll leave all Humphrey observations to you."

"But B, we're supposed to be helping them—not watching."

Blair shot Serena her patented Queen B look. "They don't actually expect us to help them. Trust me."

Blair strutted over to where the boys were arguing over who was going to do what. "It's a driveway; it's covered in snow," Erik said, annoyed, "who cares who shovels what? It's all the same."

"Not true, little brother," Chuck snapped, his temper clearly fraying. "Oh good, the Queen and the Princess have finally decided to pitch in."

Blair's eyes narrowed at Chuck, and everyone held their breath. Asking Blair Waldorf to shovel a driveway was incomprehensible, but he didn't appear to be in the mood to let her inactivity slide.

"Bass, there better be a mind-blowing trip to the hot tub after this."

"Believe me, Waldorf. There won't be any fuses left intact after I get my hands on you."

"Ew," Serena said.

"Does anyone else feel like they need a handy wipe?" Jenny asked, grimacing.

"Fine. But only because I have some real  _fuses_ that need blowing, Bass. And I missed yoga last week."

Chuck took her arm and led her up to an uncleared area. "Just shovel this path," he said patiently, "and make sure you overturn the snow away from the drive."

"I cannot believe you are making me do this, Bass," Blair said between clenched teeth as she gripped her shovel, screw how dirty it was. She was going to use it to commit a Bass murder.

"It'll be worth it. You said so yourself."

"Does that mean  _you've_ decided it's worth it?"

Chuck smiled inscrutably. "Are you asking me if you're worth witnessing Daniel Humphrey sticking his tongue down my sister's throat, little J giving me death glares, Nate groping Vanessa, and then shoveling snow?"

Blair gulped. She wasn't entirely sure Chuck thought  _anyone_ was worth all that. Suddenly, she wasn't so keen on hearing his answer. "Yes," he said softly. "Yes. And you'd be worth even more. Not that I want to know what that would be." He leaned in and brushed a kiss across her cheek. "Now get to work, Waldorf."

As Chuck walked away, Blair looked down at her shovel, then across at Serena, who was clearly inept as she was managing to get more snow  _on her_  than she was off the road.  _I can at least do better than that_ , Blair thought. She shoved the shovel in to the top layer of snow, thanking god at least it was  _light_ and fluffy, and overturned it next to the road.

"Not that bad, Waldorf," she reassured herself. "See? Totally painless." Nevermind that it was fucking cold and dark. They'd be done in no time, and she had a hot tub to look forward to. Hot water  _and_ Chuck next to her, maybe giving her a massage. . .

"Shovel harder, S," Blair barked, digging her shovel in to the snow next to her. "I've got somewhere I need to be."

* * *

Two hours later, Blair was no longer feeling confident that they'd be done  _soon_. Soon would have been an hour and a half ago.

"This is torture," Serena whined, stopping, her breath coming out in short, wispy pants. "I should have spent more time in the gym."

"I can't even  _feel_ my toes. I'm sure I'm going to lose all of them to hypothermia. When we get back to civilization, I'm filing a complaint with Prada."

"I don't think that Prada probably expected that you'd be wearing your boots outside, in the snow, for  _hours_ ," Dan observed.

"I don't care," Blair argued, her temper more razor sharp than ever, "this is supposed to be high quality merchandise. They should be planning for all eventualities."

"Yeah, because Prada-wearing socialites tend to shovel snow on a frequent basis."

Blair let her shovel fall into the snow. "That's it. I need a break."

"You should join Chuck. It appears he's taking  _another_ break," Dan said snidely, pointing his shovel in the direction of where Chuck was leaning on the back of his limo.

"I'll be back," Blair huffed. "I'm still holding out a tiny particle of hope that there's a hot tub for me somewhere at the end of this insufferable experience."

"I'm timing you," Dan called as Blair took off to where Chuck stood.

"You better not be losing any appendages to frostbite," she said, coming to a stop in front of where he was lounging against the limo.

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "And what appendages are you concerned about, Waldorf?"

"Your toes of course, moron. I don't want to have to dig our way to a hospital."

"No need to worry. I put different shoes on. Unlike my dear sister, I knew to come at least partially prepared."

"Well, good for you. But I'll have you know, Prada's going to be hearing from me about the shoddy quality of their products."

Chuck's expression instantly turned concerned. "Are your feet cold?" he asked.

Blair shrugged. "Honestly, I don't even know anymore. I can't really feel them."

"Maybe you should sit in the limo for a few minutes. Warm your feet up."

"I'm fine, Bass," Blair said flippantly, turning away from his grasping arm. "I'd better get back to shoveling, or else we'll never get to the lodge."

"Don't be daft, Blair. Are your feet really alright?" There was an edge to Chuck's voice that surprised Blair.

"You're really worried," she asked with surprise.

"Of course I'm worried. You're Blair Waldorf. Whatever you choose to do, you do it 200%. Including shoveling snow. To get that lodge, you'd be shoveling snow on your death bed. Besides, don't think I've missed the way your ass wiggles when you bend over."

"I should be flattered that you're concerned for my wellbeing, Bass," Blair murmured, turning back and pinning him to the limo trunk. "But, I'm just fine. Or else I will be when it's just you and me, in the hot tub." She ran her gloved hands up his tightly buttoned coat, feeling him tense underneath her touch. She could gloat about how much he clearly wanted her, or she could take the high road. Decisions, Blair thought, decisions . . .

"Now that's the Blair I remember—so incredibly eager."

"I've only improved with age, Bass." She leaned in, until their breath mingled, and for a brief second, she debated kissing him again, right here, right now. They'd been waiting for so long, for all those endless days and even more endless lonely nights. She wanted it to be perfect when they came together, and this wasn't exactly the most optimal situation.

Besides, she had a feeling that once they started, it was going to be almost impossible to stop.

So she pulled away. "I've got to get back to work. And so do you." She tapped him lightly on the cheek with her finger, and then turned to go back to her shovel. Blair knew he was watching her, so she put an extra bit of swagger in her step—at least as much as she could when she was trying not to slip on a patch of ice and fall on her ass.

Reaching her shovel, Blair picked it up with a glare of distaste and eyed the distance they still had to go. She was pretty sure, though it was still so dark, that she could make out the outline of the lodge now.

"Is Chuck alright?" Serena asked slyly.

"He's fine," Blair retorted. "No need to worry."

They shoveled in silence for a while, each of them focusing on the task at hand, before Dan spoke up. "You know, Blair, I never thought I'd say this, but you're taking this all pretty well. Even Chuck is." He gestured to where the Bass heir was shoveling up a fury of snow. Blair smiled, knowing exactly why he was so eager to get to the lodge.

"We're not quite the spoiled little brats you think we are," Blair huffed. "I think the person who's complained the most is little J." She gazed over at where Jenny was glaring at Nate and Vanessa, who were flirting more than shoveling.

"She's delicate," Dan defended.

"And whiny," Blair added. "She looks like a toothpick, but she's hardier than she looks."

"And you would know. . .?" Dan asked.

"Come on, Humphrey. What's it going to take to convince you that your little sister is just as conniving and bitchy as me?"

"B," Serena interjected warningly, but Blair just brushed her off.

"Seriously. How many society events has she crashed? And what about that little stunt she pulled last year when she snuck Erik out of the Ostroff Center? She even ruled the annual Waldorf soiree. A delicate flower couldn't possibly pull that off. Trust me, Humphrey, like knows like."

"I guess," he said after considering her words for a minute, "I hadn't ever thought about her in that way. She's my little sister."

"Not so little anymore," Blair said matter-of-factly. "Going after Nate? That pretty much proved she's grown up."

"I have to side with Blair on this," Serena said. "I know it's hard to see your siblings as grown up—I went through the same thing with Erik—but it's time to face it, Dan. Little J isn't so little."

"Truthfully," Blair continued, as she continued to look over at the love triangle in action, "I think Abrams is in over her head with Nate. Little J could manage him so much better. And don't mistake me, Nate definitely needs to be managed."

"You would know," Dan said darkly. "Though to be honest, I'd rather he not be with  _either_ of them."

"But he's your friend," Serena said naively.

"Exactly," Dan said.

"I think that'll be a good way to pass the time up here," Blair concluded. "Abrams needs to be sent packing."

"What about what Nate wants?" Dan asked.

Blair rolled her eyes as she shoveled. "Don't be ridiculous, Humphrey. Nate doesn't care either way. He clearly likes both of them."

"What about you spending time with Chuck? Isn't that going to pass the time?" Serena inquired.

"Don't be ridiculous," Blair snapped. "I mean, obviously, yes, I am mainly here for Chuck. But I need a side project. Chuck is clearly ready to fall back in line. I just need to make him sweat it out a little.  _And_ force him to finally confess his undying love."

"That sounds like a pretty full plate to me," Dan said. "Chuck Bass admitting he loves someone? I didn't know that was actually possible."

"It is. And I can do it. If anyone could, it would be me."

"We know he loves you, B. You shouldn't worry. He clearly brought you here so he could have the most romantic atmosphere possible when he said it for the first time," Serena soothed.

"Romantic atmosphere or not. . .I won't forget that he still  _has_ to say it. I wonder if he actually believes that I'll just let it slide if he woos me with mistletoe and gifts."

"And hot tubs," Dan added unhelpfully.

"He'll say it," Serena repeated, sending a shovelful of snow in Dan's general vicinity.

"He'd better," Blair said, glancing over to where Chuck was standing. "If he's dragged me all the way up here, to the middle of  _nowhere_ , and then makes me shovel snow, he'd _better_."

"I'll say this. I never thought I'd ever see the great Chuck Bass performing manual labor. If he's doing that, all for you, then he  _must_ love you," Dan said.

Blair wanted to believe it was true, that the whole purpose of this trip had been to show her how much he cared before he actually told her those three words, eight letters, but the doubts still lingered. And the only thing that would put them to rest for good would be to hear Chuck utter them out loud. To her.

Half an hour later, the group finally reached the end of the drive. The drivers jogged back to the limos and drove up to the front of the lodge, which was, despite all Blair had seen in her pampered life, rather impressive, even for a Bass residence.

She wasn't exactly sure what she'd been expecting, it hadn't been this hugely imposing edifice constructed almost entirely from logs. But despite its size, it didn't look like a Lincoln Log Tara, but instead like a big rambling building that sprawled across the forest backdrop. Blair couldn't imagine Big Bad Bart Bass purchasing such a homey looking structure, and she glanced sideways at Chuck, who was supervising the unpacking of the limos.

"This place is amazing," Vanessa said with the awe in her voice that Blair would never allow to outwardly show. But this was Abrams, who lived in a Brooklyn hovel. A McDonalds would probably look like a mansion to her.

Chuck shrugged. "It suffices. I'm not sure how long Bart will actually hold onto it, so I thought we'd enjoy it while he still owned it."

"Well it's lovely, Chuck. When Lily said that Bart was purchasing property upstate, I had no idea this was what she was referring to," Serena said.

Blair decided that she'd been outside just about long enough, thank you very much, and she was ready to go inside and try to feel her toes again. "Bass," she snapped, as he approached her, "since we don't have any staff, does that mean we should just fend for ourselves?"

He nodded. "I suppose just take whatever rooms you want. There's plenty to go around. Except," and he turned to Blair, zeroing in on her with a sudden intensity and focus, "for you. You're staying with me. In the master suite."

Blair gaped a little. She'd half-expected that he'd sneak into her room sooner rather than later, but she hadn't exactly anticipated that Chuck would be insisting, and in front of _everyone_ , that they share a room. That was tantamount to announcing they were officially a couple. Not just the casual, we're up here for a weekend fling kind of couple, either. Chuck, Blair realized, was incredibly serious.

"Um, alright. I can manage that, I suppose," she said lightly, trying to recover the gift of speech after the shock of her life. Chuck Bass—wanting to get serious. Wanting to spend the entire night with  _her_. Maybe, she thought as she smiled up at him, he  _would_ be saying the three words, eight letters to her after all.

"You'll know which one is the master suite, Waldorf," he said, with a gentle push in the direction of the front door. "Find it, and I'll send your bags up."

" _Our_ bags, Bass," Blair corrected him a trifle breathlessly, acutely aware that everyone had stopped what they were doing and was watching the two of them.

"Right," he smiled. " _Our_ bags."

As Blair turned and made her way into the huge foyer, she was sure she was smiling just a tad bit goofily. She didn't even care that the house was cold and dark, clearly without any staff. And with one more lovesick glance down at Chuck as he directed the drivers carting the luggage in, she made her way up the huge curving staircase.

There were two hallways at the top of the stairs, and she took the first, moving swiftly, opening one door after another, each room lovely but clearly not  _the_ master suite. Chuck had said she would know it when she saw it, Blair thought impatiently, but where  _was_ it? She was desperate to take her boots off and try to bring some semblance of warmth to her toes.

Then, she saw the huge double doors at the end of the hall, around a corner, and she knew she'd found it. Taking a deep breath, she turned the handles, and,  _thank god she was alone_ , just gasped.

It was enormous—the spacious penthouse she and Eleanor shared probably could fit in the suite comfortably, Blair thought with wonder as she stepped inside the room.

And it wasn't only the size of the suite that took her breath away; it was the sheer luxury. Bearskin rugs were spread over the shining wood floor in front of a massive stone fireplace that she could probably stand in comfortably. There were low slung, comfortable looking couches, and tables, and another set of glass double doors that appeared to lead to a private balcony.

Blair turned, looking for more doors, for the bedroom, and saw a single door out of the corner of her eye. But first, she collapsed onto the couch, wiggling out of her heavy, wet coat and leaning over to finally unzip her boots. Struggling with her cold clumsy fingers inside her leather gloves, she reluctantly pulled them off, exhaling sharply as her already-cold skin met even colder air. She really hoped that Chuck could figure out how to get the heat working in this house, because they  _really_ needed some warmth.

Leaning over again, she quickly unzipped her boots and stood up, padding over in her socks to the bedroom door. She opened it and felt that hard knot of fear that she'd been carrying around ever since Tuscany begin to unravel.

The bed was unsurprisingly enormous, and piled high with pillows and a fluffy white feather comforter lined in what looked like red flannel, but she discovered was actually cashmere when she reached out to touch it. There were double walk-in closets, and a white and forest green marble bathroom complete with Jacuzzi tub and a shower the size of a small room.

Stupidly, she glanced in the mirror in the bathroom, and groaned out loud. Her hair was a windblown mass of frizzy, wet locks. Her cheeks were bright red and no doubt chapped from the biting wind outside. Blair tried to repair the damage, but finally just gave up. After all, Chuck had already seen her like this; what was the point of worrying over a reaction that hadn't happened?

After she was done exploring the other rooms of the suite, Blair returned to the bedroom and eyed the bed with longing. She couldn't wait to climb up into that feathery softness. . .with Chuck.

"I see you found what you were looking for."

Blair turned to see Chuck leaning against the frame of the bedroom door, a lazy smile on his face. "I did, yes," she said, all too aware that while his words might not have had a double meaning, hers definitely did.

"This place is beautiful," she continued. "You should convince Bart not to sell. Lily would love it up here."

Chuck just smiled again, giving her a look that she couldn't decipher. Or maybe she was just too tired to think properly. Before she could figure out exactly what he meant, the drivers arrived with their luggage.

"Thank god," Blair said, reaching for her suitcases. She was  _dying_ to get out of these cold, wet clothes.

"That eager to get undressed, darling?" Chuck asked facetiously as he returned to the room, having made sure that everyone was settled.

Blair glared. "I've spent half my evening watching Serena make out with Dan, and the other half outside in a cold, wet snowstorm. I'm considering burning this outfit because of its unlucky properties."

"Let me help you with that," Chuck said softly as she began to unwind her scarf from around her neck. "You look tired."

Blair resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew  _exactly_ how awful she looked. "If you insist," she said as he unwrapped her scarf from around her neck and let the dripping material drop the floor with unattractive plop. She reached up for his scarf and did the same, and then began to unbutton his coat.

Their eyes locked, and though the room had definitely been on the chilly side only a moment before, it was suddenly a bit warmer. "Hot tub?" Chuck asked, his voice deep and gravely. "I believe I owe you one."

"You do, Bass," Blair said a little breathlessly. "Where is it?"

"Outside, on our balcony I think."

"How romantic," Blair couldn't help saying. "Are you sure that you're  _really_ Chuck Bass?"

Chuck turned to look at her, his trademark smirk firmly in place. "Why don't we find out?" he said.

He leaned in, brushing his lips across hers. "And do I kiss like Chuck does?"

"That wasn't an accurate sample," she retorted, barely able to keep a straight face. "You're going to have to try that again."

This time, he captured her lips in a passionate kiss, hot and heavy and wild. They'd never been able to do things in half-measures, and with all the time apart, longing for each other, it appeared that Blair and Chuck were as combustible as ever.

They broke apart breathlessly. "So?" he groaned as she pushed his coat to the ground, not caring where it fell. "Am I still Chuck?"

"Yes. You're still Chuck. And I'm still Blair."

"Good to know," he said, resting his forehead against hers. "With that important question settled, shall we go find the hot tub?"

"That could be acceptable," Blair said coyly, slipping out his grasp. She headed out of the bedroom, and across the sitting room, until she stopped in front of the glass double doors that led out to the balcony.

"Is it out here?" Blair asked.

"I believe so, yes."

Blair opened the door only to shriek at the sudden gust of frigid air and snow that blew in her face. Wrestling with the door, she finally shut it, shaking the snow off her hair. " _That_ , Bass, is  _not_ happening. Not even for you."

"What is it?" Chuck asked, coming up behind her.

"The hot tub is not only  _outside_ , which is a locale that I think we've exhausted the possibilities of, but on top of that, it's  _covered_ in more snow."

"And let me guess, we've also exhausted the possibilities of shoveling."

Blair's eyes narrowed at Chuck's expression. "You seem far too amused about this."

"Honestly, I'm more amused by the number of things that have gone wrong in the last six hours."

Blair didn't want to dwell on any more wrongs; she only wanted to think of all the things that could go right. Like her three words, eight letters that she was still desperate to hear.

"I need hot water," she announced. "I'm going to take a shower, and then I'm going to bed. I'm exhausted and it's late." And without a single glance in his direction, she flounced off to the bathroom, disappointed in the way this whole evening had turned out. It was nothing like how she'd imagined it.

Her entire shower, Blair expected to see the fogged glass door open. When it didn't, even after she'd nearly drowned herself in hot water, she couldn't help but feel even more frustrated. Why hadn't Chuck come after her? Didn't he  _want_  to take a shower with her? She'd practically issued him an engraved, gilded invitation to join her, but he hadn't. Maybe, she thought with dismay, he was retreating again. The shared suite,  _our_ bags, maybe it had all been just too much for his Basshole personality to handle.

Wrapping herself in a towel, she exited the shower, feeling more annoyed by the second, and walked into the bedroom to find a hair brush. To her surprise, Chuck was sitting on the bed, attired in a navy blue silk robe, his hair wet from his own shower.

"Where were you?" Blair asked, jerking the zipper of her Louis Vuitton with a bit more force than was entirely necessary. "I practically  _begged_ you to join me."

Chuck sighed. "Blair, it's 2 in the morning. I just spent the last three hours shoveling snow and calling every staffing agency in the tri-state area so that when we wake up tomorrow, we won't have to cook our own eggs. I'm a little tired."

"Too tired to be with me?" she hissed. "Fine. If that's the way you want it." She turned on her heel and stomped back into the bathroom, her feet making slapping sounds on the marble floor. She attacked her hair, wielding the brush like a vengeful Joan of Arc with a flaming sword.

"Is that really what you wanted for us? A quickie in the shower?" Chuck asked, coming up behind her.

Blair paused, considering his words. Was that what she had really wanted? She was tired too-she had just assumed that the whole reason for her presence in the master suite was for her to be available for the kind of activity he'd just foregone. Was it possible that Chuck Bass wanted to just  _be_ with her, not necessarily just for sex?

"No," she said quietly. "I thought that was what you wanted."

"I just want you," he said, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her small frame. "In bed, out of bed, just  _with_ me. I thought you understood that."

"How could I?" she asked hesitantly. "You've never said so before. In fact, you've spent most of the last year running away from me."

"A mistake that I intend to rectify," Chuck said apologetically. "I messed up. I'm sure I'll mess up again. But for right now, dry your hair and let's go to bed."

"Just sleeping?" Blair asked.

"Just sleeping. Though," he said with a smirk, "don't be surprised if I change my mind in the morning." He dropped a kiss on her shoulder and was gone.

Blair turned to the mirror, staring at her face, but not recognizing the girl staring back at her, with wide, dark eyes, afraid of jumping but even more afraid of  _not_ jumping. What had changed so abruptly for Chuck that he was now not only ready to face her, but that he was ready to open his heart? Before she leapt, Blair realized, she was going to have to figure out what exactly had changed for him-what had brought about this new and improved version of Chuck Bass.

Fifteen minutes later, hair blown dry, Blair walked out into the darkened bedroom to find Chuck already sprawled out across the bed, asleep. Smiling, she pulled the sheets back and crawled into bed next to him. Wrapping her arms around him, she closed her eyes and fell alseep almost the second her head hit the pillow.

**Without the hot tub, will Chuck be able to melt our Queen B's frozen heart-and frozen toes? Or is he still full of hot air?**


	4. Chapter 4

The white hot sun was shining in her face as Blair opened her eyes, the sudden brightness so overwhelming that she almost instantly shut them again. The light breeze floating through the open bedroom window smelled of basil and freshly tilled earth, with a hint of something that might have been roasted garlic. Blair wondered absently, as she slowly sat up, how long they had been asleep and if they had napped away the long, hot afternoon.

Easing her eyes open again, Blair saw he was curled towards her, his hand lying outstretched, her fingers intertwined with his. He was still asleep, his breaths deep and even, his face so much more peaceful than it was awake. She tightened her fingers around his, both wishing that he wouldn't wake up so they could stay this way forever, and hoping that he'd open his eyes and seduce her all over again.

That was how their nap had started. They'd spent the morning bicycling to a neighboring vineyard for wine tasting, only to sample the Chianti a bit too heavily. After staggering into a taxi that had driven them back to their romantic little bed and breakfast, tucked away in the very heart of wine country. The elderly proprietors had gazed at them with nostalgia as she and Chuck had stumbled back to the bedroom, giggling and kissing, their arms wrapped around each other.

The sex had been amazing, as it always was between them, but for a second, as Chuck had paused above her, his dark eyes passionate and full of what could only be love, Blair had realized that they had crossed over to something else entirely—somewhere beyond mere sex. So it was after an afternoon of what could only be termed making love, they had fallen asleep in each other's arms, napping away the rest of the daylight hours.

Blair sat up a little more, craning her neck to see the position of the sun, and as she'd expected, it had fallen almost over the little hills of the vineyards, and that's why it was shining so brightly into their room. The white cotton sheet slithered down her naked body, and she pushed it the rest of the way off, too warm to care about modesty. Besides, Chuck had seen and tasted and touched every inch of her. There was nothing left to hide anymore.

Nothing except the words they had yet to say to each other. She had felt them in the air between them this afternoon, had tasted them on his lips, seen them in his eyes, and with a burst of nearly painful joy, knew without question they were on the cusp of finally admitting their feelings to each other.

She knew, because of a text from Serena, that he'd told Nate at Lily and Bart's wedding, but she wanted to hear the words in her ear as he grazed her neck with his lips and his tongue. She wanted to hear them as Signora Contadino, the round, sweet-faced woman who helped her husband, Pietro, run the bed and breakfast, poured them another glass of wine with dinner. She wanted to hear them as Chuck pulled her to him and kissed her under the Italian moon and stars.

"Blair." She turned back to see that he had finally woken, his voice gravely with sleep and with something else entirely. He pulled her to him, and she smiled against his lips and they kissed, his hands weaving into her already tangled hair. She slid her leg over his, until they were pressed skin to skin.

"Chuck," she breathed unsteadily as she felt him hard and hot against her thigh. " _Please_ ," she begged, because she knew that he liked to hear her plead for him. Nobody else would understand that her begging him was actually the position of power in the relationship, but then, they were a cocoon unto themselves. Nobody understood and she didn't think anybody could. They were Chuck and Blair—inseparable from this moment on. Blair opened her eyes, and felt her heart nearly stop beating at the look on his face. And then she knew—knew without a doubt this was the moment. The moment she had been waiting her entire life for. Nathaniel and his petty, forced, childish declarations evaporated as if they'd never existed, and she knew a moment of pure, unadulterated love and soul-wrenching pleasure as he slid inside of her just as he whispered into her ear, "I love you, Blair."

She woke suddenly. Her own personal, sun-filled, Italian heaven fading from reality with a gasping shudder, her feet freezing because Chuck had apparently stolen the blanket sometime in the night and the rest of her burning because Dream Chuck's hands weren't just a dream. Real Chuck,  _the Chuck who'd_   _abandoned her alone in Tuscany_ , had his hands sliding along her overheated skin and Blair was fairly certain that she wasn't dreaming any longer, even though it felt almost too good to be real.

She wanted to shut her eyes, and find her way back to Dream Chuck, who had never left her, who had done everything he had promised—who, most importantly of all, had finally told her he loved her. But Real Chuck was in the middle of a seduction, and he wouldn't be denied, so she looked straight at him and wondered if she'd let him succeed.

"You're finally awake," he smirked. "I thought I'd lost my touch."

After the  _what-Tuscany-could-have-been_  dream, everything felt a little raw, a little too painful, as she shifted and looked up into the same dark eyes. His expression wasn't all that different, but she knew he wouldn't lean down as he slid into her and say the magic words. After Tuscany, she could never expect he would. There was hope only—a diminishing, heavily-bolstered hope, but a hope nonetheless.

For a split second, Blair wondered what he would do if she forcefully pushed him off her. For all the times they'd been together, she'd never once actually denied him, but this time, this morning, with Tuscany on her mind, in her heart, she wasn't sure she could let him touch her. Could trust him enough with her love.

Her head fell back against the pillow. "Chuck," she whispered, feeling scraped raw, "what are we doing?"

His fingers paused in their exploratory journeys on her skin. "What do you mean?" he asked, his eyes growing numb and calm. Emotionless.

Even more than the sickening ball of hurt lodged deep in her stomach, Blair hated that look of his, as if he could really, truly block her out; build his walls up high enough that she could never reach him. Perhaps, she thought as she reached out to him, pushing her fingers through the hair at the base of his neck, his pride and her need to save him from it were what made them so hopelessly perfect for each other. "I just . . ."  _Honesty_ , Blair chanted to herself _, honesty and communication, no matter how tough it is to tell him how much he hurt you_. "I just had a bad dream."

Instantly, his expression softened, and he gathered her close, tucking the top of his head beneath his chin, and Blair felt all his affection and care and, yes,  _love_ , seep into her skin through his. "Not exactly bad," she continued, "more. . . _good_ —but bad in the end." Bad, Blair thought silently, because it was what should have happened. Bad because she'd woken up nearly every morning of that summer in tears instead.

"You're going to have to explain what the hell that means," he said, his voice muffled by her hair.

"I dreamt we were in Tuscany."

They never talked of Tuscany, except when things went horribly wrong and they fought. Otherwise, it was a subject that was always present, but always unspoken.

His muscles stiffened, and then, as if he were forcing himself to, she felt him relax little by little. "What we were doing there?" he asked with deceptive calmness, as if they weren't about to go marching through a minefield of emotional devastation.

Looking at his undeniable determination to discuss this even though Blair was sure it was the last thing he wanted to do strangely made her feel better. No, he wasn't Dream Chuck, but he wasn't Abandoning Blair in Tuscany Chuck either, at least not anymore. He was somewhere in between, and that was good enough for her—at least for now. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his jaw. "This," she whispered. "We were doing this."

"Sounds like a great dream."

Blair took a deep breath. "This is better," she told him. The words escaped out of her mouth before she was even sure they were really true, but once she said them, Chuck's fingers tightened on her skin, and Blair knew they were. Nobody was more surprised than her, but she realized that she wouldn't trade this moment for one that could have happened in Tuscany. Perhaps because that moment had only been wishful thinking and this was not only happening, it was real and true and he had asked her to be here, with him.

"Nobody is more glad than me to hear it," he murmured. "Now where were we?"

Blair turned towards him, pressing her lips against his. "You were kissing me, and I'm sure if I was wearing clothes, you'd be removing them," she purred seductively.

"Done," he said against her lips, between kisses, "and definitely done. You didn't even wake up."

"Of course I didn't. I was asleep, dreaming that you were removing them. And that isn't the sort of dream I'd want to wake up from," Blair told him. "You have to remember, up until last night, the only way I had to experience those magical hands of yours was in my own head."

"And now?" he asked, the appendages she'd described sliding up her torso to cup her breasts in his hands. "Is that better?"

"I'll get back to you on that," Blair managed to respond. It had been so long, and she had missed him so much. She realized that it was nearing the point of no return, the point where she would have to decide if sleeping with him before the all-important confession of love was either prudent or wise. But then his tongue replaced his fingers, and she decided it was definitely better to  _not_ wait.

"Chuck, I need to talk to you."

Blair was suddenly glad it was positively glacial in the bedroom. She and Chuck were both still curled under the feather comforter and Serena was standing there, clad in an oversized Brown sweatshirt and leggings, her hair a tangled mess, looking like she would rather be anywhere else but where she was. And Blair totally understood, because she _definitely_ wished that Serena was just about anywhere else at this moment.

"Sis," Chuck ground out, not even bothering to move a millimeter away from Blair. "What are you doing here?"

"There's a phone call downstairs. Apparently there's been some sort of mix-up with the staff you asked to come from the agency."

"Not possible." The rein on Chuck's temper, not exactly improved by the vicinity he was to the very thing he'd desired for months, was fraying by the second. "Tell him I have something of  _pressing_ importance to take care of, and I'll call him back in an hour."

"Better make that two hours, S," Blair said sweetly, forcefully pulling Chuck's head down towards hers. "Now go bother Humphrey, and lock the door behind you. We're a little busy."

"A lot busy," Chuck growled, his mouth descending on the silky column of Blair's neck.

But Serena had been friends with Georgina. This was nothing she hadn't seen dozens—or hundreds—of times before. "I'm serious, Chuck. You need to talk to them. There isn't any food, and we're starving."

"Do I look like a chef?"

"Not particularly, but you  _are_ Chuck Bass which means you're in charge." Serena whirled out of the room, leaving them to their destroyed mood.

"Is it terrible that you're even sexier when you're Chuck Bass?" Blair asked, trying to find the humorous angle to the burning, unslaked lust that snaked through her.

"And here I thought I was sexiest when I was inside you." He rolled away from her then, a groan of exasperation escaping him. "Are you regretting bringing everyone yet?"

"No," Blair answered honestly.

He rolled his eyes. "If I remember correctly, you hate being interrupted."

"I do. But if we'd come alone, we'd still be shoveling snow, trying to get up to the house."

"No, we would have re-christened the limo, which was the original plan."

Blair laughed, joy bubbling up through her throat until it had to escape. "So you've got to be Chuck Bass."

"Except that I'm not really Chuck Bass without you. So that means you're going to go be Blair Waldorf."

"I don't cook," she deadpanned.

"And I do? We'll figure something out. Press Little J into service. I remember you used to be fairly good controlling her."

"Of course. I'm the Queen B, and she's simply a minion. Not a very tractable one lately, but I'm sure I can convince her to take her rightful place, underneath me."

"I thought that was  _my_ place," Chuck smirked.

Blair giggled. "Don't tempt me." But instead of letting him try, she rolled away, sliding her arms into his navy blue silk robe that lay pooled at the end of the bed.

He caught her arm in his hand before she could leave the bed. "Wait."

Blair raised an eyebrow. "What now, Bass? We need to get dressed."

"Just. . ." he said, pulling her closer to him, until his lips were a mere inch from hers. "Just so you know, no matter how insubordinate your minions are, you're still my queen." She kissed him again, letting their tongues tangle together, her blood beginning to simmer all over again.

"If I'm the Queen B, what does that make you?" Blair asked, pulling away from him, looking right into his dark eyes. Their conversations had always been fraught with second meanings and chess-like manipulations and movements, but in the last twenty four hours, she thought they'd reached a new level.

Chuck smiled at her. "I'm surprised you need to ask. I am what I've always been. Your king." He brushed a single kiss on her cheek. "You just had to realize it. Now go get dressed before I change my mind and let Serena and co. starve."

Blair contemplated Chuck's words as she dressed, and wondered if they were more than just a silly, throwaway line that he'd spouted to reassure her. That sounded like the Chuck she knew, but she also had to admit that he was incredibly observant. Had he always known that Nate wasn't the man for her? She remembered years of Chuck's barely-harnessed exasperation at Nate's behavior and her own tolerance for it, and realized that it  _could_ be true. And hadn't he said so at the wedding just last spring?

_You don't belong with Nate. Never have, never will._

And if that was the case, Blair thought as she descended the stairway, why was it so hard for him to commit to her with the words she needed to hear? Why had he left her in Tuscany? Because if Chuck was so sure that Nate wasn't right for her, didn't he know that he  _was_?

She found Serena and the rest of the group in the kitchen, their expressions ranging from glum to positively livid. The latter, of course, was her best friend, who despite popular opinion, hated to miss a meal.

"Where's Chuck?" she asked Serena.

S waved a hand in the direction of another doorway. "He's trying to sort out the staffing situation. Apparently the supplies never made it up here either. Yet another misunderstanding, apparently."

Blair eyed the doorway warily. Chuck, despite his generally exacting personality, actually had a fairly even temper. It took a significant disruption to work him up, but if she wasn't mistaken, she could hear his raised voice through the thick, hardwood door.

"I'm sure he's got the situation in hand," Blair said breezily. "And if he doesn't, then I'll get involved. I truly doubt there's any problem that we couldn't solve if we attacked it together."

Chuck's words about being her King whispered in her ear. Maybe that had been her whole problem—she'd spent her life dreaming and searching for a  _consort_ , a man who worshipped the ground she walked on, and who she could ultimately walk all over. Nate had filled that position, not necessarily admirably, but ably enough. Chuck, on the other hand, would never let a woman control him. If she let him, they would rule  _together_ , in a joint kingdom. It was a possibility she had never thought she'd want, but faced with the concept, she couldn't deny that it had merit.

She heard another muffled yell, and looked back at the group in the kitchen, who were all looking at her expectantly, as if  _she_ was in charge. And then it hit Blair—while she and Chuck had been so busy trying to avoid their ultimate destiny, everyone else had simply accepted it as fact. She  _was_ in charge, and so was he.

_Except that I'm not really Chuck Bass without you. So that means you're going to go be Blair Waldorf._

Suddenly she knew what he had meant, what he had been driving at. They were stronger together than they were apart—so much more than simply the sum of their parts—and it was time she started taking advantage of that.

"Jennifer," Blair said coolly, turning toward the tall blonde, who was looking enviously at Nate and Vanessa, deep in conversation. "Do we have  _any_ supplies?"

"The fridge is empty, B," Serena interjected.

Serena, Blair thought with a sudden soul-deep satisfaction, didn't get it. She had relinquished all control and power when she picked the wrong man. You could  _never_ rule the Upper East Side with Dan Humphrey. It was impossible and even more, it was ludicrous. She, Blair Waldorf, had a  _real_  King.

"Serena, I didn't ask you," Blair snapped back. "Jennifer—the pantry. I don't know how long it'll take Chuck to get our supply situation resolved, but until then, I need to know where we stand."

"And Vanessa," she added innocently, as if was only trying to facilitate a faster inventory, "you should probably help her."

Vanessa looked up at her with a typically annoyed expression, which Blair met with a royal smile. "Fine," she ground out and went to join Jenny in the pantry. Chuck was right, she hadn't lost her touch. Her subjects might be a trifle intractable, but they were all still aware of who was ultimately in charge.

"Where's Erik?" Blair asked Serena.

"I suppose he's still asleep," Serena said absently, as she methodically opened and shut every cupboard in the kitchen.

"You mean to tell me that you interrupted me and Chuck, but you let your dear brother sleep in? How thoughtful of you," Blair said, annoyed.

"Oh, B. I didn't mean it like that."

"Oh, I know," Blair said breezily, and left Serena to her cupboards as she sidled over to her ex-boyfriend, who was leaning against the counter. "Hello, Nate," she said innocently.

"Blair," he said with a vacant expression on his face—his,  _if I ignore Blair long enough she'll go away,_ face. They'd been together for years and friends for even longer, and if he hadn't figured out by now that she saw right through him, he never would.

"Don't even bother trying to ignore me. So, tell me. Any residual awkwardness between Vanessa and Little J?"

"I wish you wouldn't call her that. She's hardly a little girl anymore," Nate shot back.

Jackpot, Blair thought with satisfaction. This was going to be even easier than she'd anticipated. Nate had already made up his mind, he just needed—typically for him—a push in the right direction.

"I suppose not, not after you were done with her," Blair said sweetly.

"That's not fair, Blair," Nate argued, his expression beginning to look more alert by the second. "Jenny and I didn't even do anything. I don't know why everyone thinks of me as some sort of virginity-stealer.  _You_ were still technically innocent when we broke up."

Blair supposed she should have been offended at the dig, but enough time had passed that she was able to look back at that night, the night of the breakup and of her impromptu dance at Victrola, and know without a shadow of a doubt that she had done the right thing. Giving herself to Chuck, as bizarre as it seemed to most people, had been the first step in becoming a Blair that she  _liked_ being.

Of course, that didn't excuse the comment, so Blair shot him a freezing glare. "Nathaniel, are you  _still_ jealous of what Chuck took?"

"I don't want to get into this with you," he groaned. "Just forget it, okay?"

"Fine," Blair said lightly, tapping her fingernails absently on the marble countertop. She'd gotten the preliminary information she needed, and with the confirmation that Nate truly did prefer the blonde over the brunette—and really, what was new there?—she could move on with Phase 2 of the Vanessa EvictionPlan.

Serena and Dan came over to where they were standing together. "I'm really sorry about this morning, B," Serena said apologetically. "I figured I'd find you in that sort of . . .position, but I didn't have much of a choice."

Blair shrugged. It could have been a lot worse, and S knew it. "It's alright. If anything you came in at the most opportune time."

"Thank god," she gushed.

"Wait," Dan interjected. "She walked  _in_ on you two?"

Blair shot him an incredulous look. For being supposedly so intelligent, Humphrey could truly be obtuse. "He's Chuck Bass. What do you think we were doing? Knitting? Crocheting? Scrapbooking?"

"I just didn't . . .realize," Dan stuttered, gazing over with apologetic adoration at the tall blonde next to him. "I know you said that it was awkward but you didn't say. . ."

"When I said it was going to be weird, I wasn't lying. But you know, we've known each other for a long time. It's not like I haven't. . .seen that before."

"Chuck used to have sex in front of me all the time." The three of them turned towards Nate, who had finally decided to contribute to the conversation.

Dan gaped, Serena frowned, and Blair wondered why she had  _ever_ considered Nathaniel Archibald a suitable consort. Jesus Christ, the man was fucking dense.

"Thank you for that, Nate. I'm so glad you decided to share that information," Blair bit off.

"What? It's true. Blair, you know better than anyone what kind of reputation Chuck has. It's not exactly spotless."

"That doesn't meant I like evidence of it thrown in my face on a regular basis. Or that I appreciate you judging him by his past behavior." Blair stopped there. She didn't think she needed to walk this particular group through a color-coded comparison of Chuck's promiscuity Before Blair and After Blair. Everyone had seen and noticed—well, everyone except for Nate apparently, and that was a hopeless case.

"I suppose he's changed," Serena volunteered. "Ever since Marcus, I haven't seen a single foreign working girl around the apartment. You've practically turned the man celibate, which is a real accomplishment."

Blair couldn't help but preen a little. She was Blair Waldorf, after all, and one of the many reasons why Chuck Bass was her chosen was because with him, she wouldn't be one in a long line of women that he'd cared for. She was going to be the one and the only. There was definitely a cache, a special novelty, to being both the first and the last. True—he'd slept with half of Manhattan—but it was indisputably different with her.

"The man's in love with you," Nate said, his voice even and expressionless. "Whether he admits it or not, he'd do anything for you, Blair."

"I would. Except that I'm not going to cook for you, darling." Blair's eyes flew to the doorway, where Chuck was leaning against the doorframe, smiling lazily. She had a feeling that he'd been off the phone and listening to their conversation for at least a few minutes. Forcing herself not to blush, she walked over to him, a determined smile on her face. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Vanessa and Jenny emerge from the pantry. Vanessa looked downright annoyed and Little J was wearing her typical pout like it was going out of style.

"What do you mean you're not cooking for me?" she asked him, unable to resist brushing a hand against the sleeve of his cashmere sweater. Even though they were still technically in a purgatory-like zone, she liked to think she could touch him the way a girlfriend would. She wanted to announce, even to this little ragtag band of friends, that he was  _hers_ , and she was finally  _his_.

"I have bad news," Chuck announced, reaching down to hold her hand. The touch of his fingers on hers reminded her of the Tuscany dream and she had to swallow hard—swallow down the automatic burst of hurt even though he'd done what he could to lay it to rest this morning. "I'm going to have to send Arthur and my limo back to New York to try to pick up a bare bones staff. Lily has graciously allowed me to borrow two of her staff, and Dorota will be joining them—as long as that's alright with you, Blair."

"Of course it's fine," Blair said, smiling up at him. Staff or no, she had a feeling that Bass would have done what he could to make sure that Dorota was here for Christmas. He knew, more than probably anyone else, how much her maid meant to her.

"That means, unfortunately, that there won't be any staff until tomorrow morning, at the very earliest," Chuck continued.

"Well, I know for me and Dan and Vanessa, it won't be a big deal," Jenny said, and shot a glare in Blair's direction. "Some of us grew up without people to wait on us hand and foot."

Blair decided that it might be better to inform Jenny of her plan to get rid of Vanessa, before she said one too many things to piss her off. "We'll be fine, Chuck," she reassured him, squeezing his fingers. She turned her best inquisitorial glare onto Nate's two girls. "V and Little J. Report?"

"There's waffle mix. We just need to mix it with water, and I found a Belgian waffle maker," Jenny said. "No syrup or butter, but we'll manage."

Blair barely resisted rolling her eyes. "Right. No syrup and butter. Because some of us eat those things."

"Wait, I found some maple syrup in the corner," Vanessa announced, like it even  _mattered_.

"Excellent," Blair said sarcastically.

Chuck checked his watch. "It's already 10 AM, so that'll be fine for brunch. I'll see what we can do about dinner. Maybe we can get something delivered. I'll need to go confer with Arthur about the trip back to New York, and I'll see the state of the driveway, while you see about food."

"I'll go with you," Nate chimed in. "Dan?"

"Yeah, I think one Humphrey is capable of dealing with waffles. I'll go with you guys."

"Well, then, I'll leave breakfast in your hands, Queen B. Be back in half an hour?" Chuck leaned in and gave her a kiss in front of everyone, and Blair was certain, right before his lips touched hers, that everyone was simply gaping in surprise at them. And the kiss wasn't a simple little peck either—it was a long, drawn out passionate affair that had Serena clearing her throat. When they finally broke apart, Blair smiled and knew just how much of the conversation Chuck had overheard. He'd heard her defend him, and secretly she was glad. She desperately wanted him to know that what he'd done before they got together didn't matter.

His past—that she could deal with. Tuscany? That was another story. She was still trying to come to terms with his behavior and how much he'd hurt her. This morning hadn't been the first time she'd dreamed of them together, having the time of their lives on a vacation that had never actually happened. This morning  _was_ the first time he'd told her loved her, and coupled with waking up practically in his arms, she still wasn't sure how she felt about it.

There  _was_ one thing she was fairly certain of though, and that was her position. "Vanessa," she barked, turning back to the stunned kitchen as the front door shut behind the boys, "see if there's any coffee. I need a cappuccino."

Serena held up a bright red canister. "Sorry, B. There's only instant."

Blair glared at the inoffensive container. "All I'm saying is if there's  _really_ no cappuccino, there  _better_ be an 'I love you' at the end of this."

"Blair," Vanessa said with exaggerated patience, "I've never seen a man even  _look_ at a woman the way that Chuck just stared at you, before he kissed you, and that was just his expression. Let's not even go into the kiss itself which. . ."

"I know," Blair said. "He can really kiss. Trust me. I know. That's not what I'm worried about."

"Did you have the Tuscany dream again, B?" Serena asked as she filled the coffee pot with water.

Blair tensed. She didn't want anyone—anyone that wasn't Serena, anyway—to know how often she dreamt about Tuscany, but she nodded.

"You dream about Tuscany?" Jenny asked, her voice suddenly soft and sympathetic. Blair wanted to hate her for feeling  _sorry_ for her, but she was feeling too vulnerable right now to turn any sympathy away. Even sympathy from Little J.

"Sometimes. We're together there. . .the way we should have been. . ." Blair trailed off. "And this time, he said it. He told me he loved me."

"Oh, B." Serena abandoned the coffee pot to wrap her arms around her. "I'm so, so sorry. And then you woke up and he was right there, and . . ."

"And he wasn't Dream Chuck. He was Real Chuck. Don't get me wrong, I love Real Chuck . ."

"But Dream Chuck reminds you of how much Real Chuck's hurt you," Vanessa finished.

Blair wanted to do anything but agree, but Vanessa had described it perfectly. "I know it isn't any of my business," Vanessa said hesitantly, and Blair wanted to agree that  _yes_ , it wasn't  _any_ of her business, but she continued, "but I think it's clear that you haven't forgiven him yet for abandoning you. And before you move forward, you're going to have to find a way to do that. Or else it's going to be this horrible dark shadow on your relationship."

Blair slid onto a barstool. "I keep thinking that if he says he loves me, then that will just  _erase_ everything. There won't be a Tuscany, or insults about me being like his father's sweaty horse or sending nasty rumors about me into Gossip Girl. Everything horrible that he's done will just fade away."

"It will, B. But you've got to forgive him first. Without that, you're never going to be able to forget and move on."

Deep down, Blair knew they were right, she just didn't want to admit it, because admitting it would mean that she would have to figure out  _how_ to forgive him, and if she was being truly honest with herself, she wasn't sure if she even could.

"I know what you're thinking," Vanessa said again. "I know you're wondering if you even  _can_  forgive him. Those are pretty unforgivable things. But really, it's simple."

"Simple?" Blair asked doubtfully.

"You love him. He loves you—regardless of his inability to say it. We all know it's true. In our minds, you're already together, because and god help me for saying this, but you're _perfect_ for each other. But that's beside the point. You love him. It just blossoms out of you when you're together. You can't even be in the same room without touching him—not noticeably, but I'm a girl so I notice. And because you love him, you're capable. You just have to  _want_ to."

Blair felt a twinge of guilt, but shrugged it off. So much of what Vanessa was saying actually made sense—of course, no doubt it would make  _more_ sense if her $500 per hour therapist said it, but the fact remained, the girl was actually helpful in the end. And here she was, actively plotting to make Nate leave Vanessa for Jenny.

But guilt was a useless, middle class emotion. What Vanessa was saying had nothing to do with whether she belonged with Nate or not—though  _what_ she was saying kind of proved she didn't. Nate needed a strong, powerful female, like herself and like Jenny, and Vanessa was just a feel-good, soppy, gooey mess inside.

"I hate to say it," Blair said, "but that actually made a lot of sense. Thank you."

"No problem," Vanessa said stiffly. "It just  _hurts_ to look at the two of you."

"It  _hurts_?" Blair asked incredulously, more than a little offended by Vanessa's choice of words.

"I know what she means," Serena interjected, as she flipped on the coffee pot switch. "You two care about each other so much, and when you hurt each other, we can all see it and see how awful it is. We just want you two to finally be happy."

"That's what I want to," Blair said softly. "That's all I want."

"Then forgive him, B." Serena ruffled her hair as she walked by with a pile of plates. "How are those waffles coming, Jenny?"

"They're okay. The first one wasn't fantastic," she said, gesturing to the burned one she'd relegated to the trash, "but the rest have turned out pretty good."

"Waffles," Blair echoed with distaste. "What I wouldn't give for a croissant right now."

"You've got to toughen up," Serena said cheerfully. "We're in the country. And that means waffles."

**Has our Queen B finally found her King? Or did her King find her? But the real question is, can the Queen finally forgive her King for making her play the fool?**


	5. Chapter 5

**Spotted: A Christmas tree expedition involving all the heavy hitters on the Upper East Side and some of their Brooklyn hangers-on. Will this peace offering smooth over things between a Queen and her King when she discovers he hasn't been entirely honest? And what about all that snow? Perhaps we'll learn the answer to the greatest question of this holiday season: can a Bass actually call the shots when it comes to the weather?**

"So you're sending Arthur back to New York? Do you think stranding us here in the middle of nowhere without any transportation is really the best plan?" Nate asked Chuck as they surveyed the state of the driveway. They'd only finished shoveling eight hours before but the overnight snow had covered much of their hard work.

"We'll be fine," Chuck told him with a confidence he didn't feel. So far nothing in this trip had gone right. First, Blair had insisted on dragging along not just their friends, but a whole host of Brooklyn-ites that Chuck didn't even want to admit he  _knew_. He'd adapted though, planning an incredibly romantic limo ride that had been crashed by his dear sister and her loser boyfriend. Despite that, he'd still thought he could recover from the mess, until they'd reached the lodge and he'd realized that not only had the staff never made it like he'd arranged, but he and Blair were actually forced into manual labor—and not exactly the kind of manual labor he'd been anticipating.

Chuck Bass wasn't stupid; he knew he was skating on thin ice right now, and all it took was one serious misstep for Blair to decide once and for all that she could never forgive him for Tuscany and since he was a Bass, not only was he not used to losing, he couldn't even comprehend the possibility. Basses just  _didn't_ lose.

"I don't know, man," Dan added. "What if it snows more?"

"It won't," Chuck snapped.

"What, so Chuck Bass controls the weather now?" Nate joked.

Chuck looked over the snow-coated landscape, took a deep breath and counted to ten. Losing his temper wasn't going to improve the situation. "Regardless of what you think of the plan," he told Nathaniel and Dan in calm, measured tones, "it  _is_ the plan."

"Bringing Dorota up here was pure genius. Even I was a little impressed," Nate said.

Chuck wanted to roll his eyes. There was a reason that  _he_ was the who'd eventually won the Queen B—it was because he knew not only what she wanted, but what she  _needed_. Nate, for all his affability and dim-witted good looks, had never managed to figure out how the great Blair Waldorf ticked.

"Dorota's important to Blair. Besides, I needed some kind of staff here, and it seemed like the best possible solution."

"Still, it was genius. At this rate, you're not even going to have to say the three words to her."

Chuck couldn't even help the eye roll this time. "Don't be ridiculous, Nathaniel," Chuck said as they walked towards where Arthur leaned against the parked limo. "Of course I have to say the words. Eventually."

Nate stopped suddenly, and his expression was strangely serious. "So you're really going to do it then."

It was these kind of absolutes that made Chuck nervous. While in a very abstract way, yes, he had decided to finally tell Blair how he felt about her this Christmas, it was an entirely different prospect to admit it to Nate, who was both his best friend and Blair's ex-boyfriend.

"When I said it to Serena . . ." Dan began, but Chuck interrupted him before he could get any farther.

"If this is going to be the same kind of pep talk you gave Blair before she chickened out two months ago, then I don't want to hear it, Humphrey. It wasn't exactly successful, if you get my drift."

Dan, being intelligent, shut right up.

"I'm serious, that's really . . . _mature_  of you Chuck. And Blair deserves it," Nate said, clearly less intelligent than Humphrey.

In that moment, Chuck really, really hated his best friend. Nathaniel had no idea how truly impossible it was to even face the possibility of telling Blair that he loved her. Being Nate Archibald, he said it all the time, to all kinds of women, until it was nearly meaningless. Chuck, on the other hand, had never once uttered the words out loud and meant them. Giving Blair that kind of destructive power over him was terrifying.

"You  _are_ going to do it, right?" Nate asked, a hint of concern in his voice over Chuck's lack of affirmation.

_Maybe_. "Yes," he growled out. "Of course I am. I wouldn't have dragged her up here if I wasn't going to say it. It would have been pointless. We all know that's the only way the Queen is going to let her drawbridge down."

"Good," Nate said, as if it was all settled now. As if it was all as easy as Chuck simply  _deciding_ to say it. They continued over to the limo, where Chuck rattled off instructions at Arthur.

"And don't dawdle. I've been following the forecast closely, and well. . .it doesn't look very promising," Chuck added. "Just get back here as soon as you can."

"I'll keep you informed of my progress, Mr. Bass. Don't worry; I'll make sure we make it back here."

"You'd better," Chuck said wryly. "Or a certain Blair Waldorf might relegate me to the couch."

"Do you think you can even make it down the driveway?" Nate asked Arthur.

"He'll make it. I have good faith in our man here," Chuck said, shaking Arthur's hand firmly.  _Positive thinking_ , Chuck thought to himself,  _he's going to make it down the fucking driveway because I'm going to_ will _it to happen._

Chuck's phone buzzed at that moment, and he stepped away to answer it. Dan turned to Nate, who was busy watching Arthur maneuver the limo down the snow-covered drive.

"You know, he's not going to say it," Dan said.

Nate sighed. "I know. I think he  _wants_ to, but god, I don't know if he even can. I mean, he's Chuck Bass. Though if he could say it anyone, I think it would be to her."

There was an awkward pause. "Okay, I think we can stop now, before our balls shrink any further," Dan said in a rush.

"Good," Nate breathed in relief. "I was really hoping you wouldn't ask me if I cared or something. Because I  _don't_."

"Good," Dan echoed, thinking of Vanessa and Jenny, who would both be interested in hearing that Nate couldn't care less if Chuck loved Blair. "And for the record, I wouldn't have asked."

An uncomfortable silence descended between the two, and they both turned to look for Chuck at the same moment. He was walking back towards them, a black-gloved hand clenching his cell phone, and his expression looked positively grim.

"Everything alright?" Nate asked as the three of them turned to head back into the house.

"The weather," Chuck said, then hesitated. He stopped walking and turned to Nate and Dan. "I don't think we should tell the girls this, but the forecast looks bad. I would be astonished if Arthur was able to get back here before the big storm strikes."

"Big storm?" Dan echoed, his eyes growing wide.

"My contact at the Meteorological Service says they're calling it the storm of the century."

"You have a contact at the Meteorological Service?" Nate asked in surprise.

"Of course. Don't you, Archibald?"

"Uh, no. Seriously, sometimes you scare me."

Chuck just shrugged. "Maybe a Bass can't change the weather, but we're sure as hell are better informed about it than most of the general population."

"Have you ever thought about, I don't know, buying a small country and running it?" Dan asked.

"Very funny, Humphrey. I'm serious about telling the girls. I don't want them panicking."

"You mean you don't want Blair panicking," Nate said knowingly.

Chuck nodded. "This whole trip has had enough problems already. I don't want her attempting to get back to New York if she thinks she could get stranded up here."

"It's that bad?" Dan asked.

Chuck didn't even have to answer, the serious expression on his face told the entire story. "Okay. It's a deal then," Nate said. "We're on a need-to-know basis at this point."

"Precisely," Chuck said as they walked in the front door. "Now let's hope Waldorf was able to corral her minions into making something edible for breakfast. I'm starving."

* * *

Breakfast, was, to the surprise of everyone involved, a rather festive affair. The waffles had turned out even better than anticipated, and Jenny glowed with praise—or maybe that was just the fact that Nate had deliberately sat next to her, leaving Vanessa at the other end of the table.

Chuck was sitting at the head of the table, naturally, with Blair sat at the opposite end, and nobody missed the significance of the way they glanced warily at each other, a Queen and her King trying to figure out how to merge kingdoms.

"Those were amazing, Jenny," Nate said for what must have been the tenth time since they'd started eating. "I didn't even miss the butter." What Blair didn't miss was Vanessa rolling her eyes, and Jenny soaking up the praise like a dry sponge. She glanced down the table and saw that Chuck was also watching the exchange, a contemplative expression on his handsome face.

"They weren't croissants," Blair decided to add, "but I suppose they were tolerable."

Jenny flushed bright pink, praise from the Queen B even more overwhelming than that of Nate Archibald. Vanessa, Blair noted with glee, looked positively murderous. It was amazing what a little well-placed compliment could wreak.

"They were just waffles. Jenny's been making them since she was born, practically," she said. Blair hoped that Nate didn't miss the snide edge to Abrams' tone. After all, for someone who went around acting like they were Mother fucking Theresa, she could sure be a sulky, pouty little twit. Blair was certain V wasn't nearly as selfless and giving as everyone liked to think she was, documentary filmmaker and real estate savior aside. And, Blair could see from the way the corner of Chuck's mouth twisted into a smirk that he agreed with her, but they were Chuck and Blair. It was rare to find a position they  _couldn't_ agree on.

Step Three of the Ditch Vanessa Plan, Blair decided, was to get her King on board. Besides, it didn't even  _feel_ like a scheme unless Chuck was manipulating alongside her. And, she had to concede, he might be rather helpful with Nate, who was automatically suspicious of everything she did anymore. This had become a particularly sore point with Blair, who didn't think it was exactly fair that Nate trusted Chuck but not her.

"So, Chuck, what's the plan for the day?" Serena asked brightly, changing the subject in the most obvious way. Blair loved her best friend dearly, but her lack of finesse was embarrassing sometimes.

"It's Christmas," Chuck said, his dark eyes boring into Blair's, "which means we'll need decorations. But most importantly, we'll need a tree. It's not snowing right now, maybe we should go find one."

Blair didn't understand right away. " _Find_ a tree? What are you talking about, Bass?"

"It's not Manhattan, B. You can't just send Dorota down the street to buy one," Serena said, rolling her eyes.

"I've never had Dorota buy my tree," Blair exclaimed indignantly. "We always use a decorator."

"Well, there are no 'decorators' here," Vanessa snarked, clearly still upset about how close Little J and Nate were sitting.

Blair decided that it could never be too soon for the Ditch Vanessa Plan to come to fruition.

"So what are we going to do then?" Blair asked, annoyed with how everyone at the table was conspiring to make her sound like a stuck up bitch—which she was, admittedly, but they didn't have to come out and act like it was such a surprise.

"What people did before decorators," Chuck told her, a smile on his face, "we're going to go out and cut a tree down."

"We're going back outside," Blair stated, unbelieving that Chuck would ever demand she wade through feet of snow ever again after the shoveling debacle. She'd thought that he was trying to get on her good—okay, her  _less-_ bitchy—side, so that she'd let him continue where they'd left off this morning.

Apparently not, because he just smiled wider, as if this was the most amusing thing he'd ever conspired to force her participate in.

"It'll be so much fun, B!" Serena exclaimed, blond hair flying as she clapped her hands like a giddy schoolgirl, leaving Dan, and even Nate, a little starstruck. Chuck, however, seemed to be the only male at the table besides Erik, who was completely oblivious to S's charm, because he just smirked laconically at Blair's pout.

"Fine, I'll go," Blair begrudged, giving in to the joy suffusing Serena's face, and almost  _happy_ light in Chuck's eyes. "I'm not happy about it, but I'll do it. And," she added, "I'm only going because if I leave the tree selection up to you, Bass, it'll be a disaster."

"How sweet of you, Blair. I'm touched by your confidence in my ability to select a suitable tree." But Chuck looked anything but offended as he stood, picking up his paper plate. "And Jennifer, that was actually semi-edible. I'm glad that there's at least one female on this trip who can pull her weight in the kitchen. Though that was definitely the very first time I've ever  _seen_ a paper plate." He gazed down in bewilderment at the soggy article in his hand.

"It was my idea to use the paper plates," Blair snapped. "I didn't think you or Nate would be up to doing dishes. Besides, I didn't think that Little J's Brooklyn waffles exactly called for Limoges."

Chuck strolled over to where Blair was standing, near the foot of the table, holding her own plate uncertainly. "Lover," he crooned, leaning down to brush a kiss on her cheek, "you should know by now that I'm always happy to do  _your_ dishes." And he plucked the plate out of her fingers and deposited it on his own.

Blair stood there open-mouthed as he went into the kitchen. She looked down the table, and saw six pairs of eyes staring back at her. "What are you all looking at?" she snapped, as if Chuck actually deigning to dispose of a paper plate was an everyday occurrence. "We have a tree to find."

* * *

Blair tugged her beret down further over her hair and tightened her scarf as she trudged through the snow covered field. "Bass," she said between gritted teeth, even though he was walking a dozen feet in front of her with Nate and couldn't hear her, "I can't believe you managed to talk me into this."

"Not having fun, Queen B?" Erik asked, slowing his pace so they could walk together. "Here I thought the outdoors were your second home."

"That's actually Bendel's," Blair said fatalistically as her feet sank in several inches of snow. They'd been walking for what felt like hours, but in reality was only a few minutes. At least she'dbeen smarter this time, trading her signature Prada for a pair of heavy duty fur-lined snow boots.

"Don't lie. You're enjoying yourself. You just don't want to admit it," Erik said, flashing her a knowing smile. "It's beautiful out here. Romantic, even," he added, gesturing to the frosted white landscape, the rolling hills pristine and perfect, dotted with evergreens, their branches laden with icicles and snow.

"Van der Woodsen, I do believe it's possible you didn't inherit the Rhodes oblivious genes."

"Thankfully, I was spared. Now are you going to tell me what's going on?"

Blair thought she'd been really very good at hiding her inner emotional turmoil. First, there'd been the Tuscany dream, then the conversation with Vanessa and Serena. "I'm fine. Really. Just don't tell Bass. If he finds out I'm having a good time, he'll think that failure is acceptable."

"But he's not failing, is he, B?"

"Whatever could you mean?" Blair asked lightly.

"I'm young, but not stupid. Or naïve. I am, after all, Serena Van der Woodsen's little brother. I've seen it all, remember? And we both know, as far as you're concerned, Chuck's doing everything right."

"Are you even on the same trip as me? What about the lack of staff? S and her lame boyfriend crashing our limo ride? Shoveling snow for hours? Little J and waffles and  _paper plates_?"

Erik let Blair rant about all the "failures" until she finally stopped, her breath coming in a rush. Snapping her lips together, she turned her focus to the snowy path in front of her, as the group approached a rather large stand of trees. "Fine. Just say it," Blair ground out.

"He's kissed you more publically in the last twenty four hours than he ever has before. He's called you 'darling' and 'lover,' in front of all of us. And now, he's out here, in the snow, finding you a Christmas tree."

"He is," Blair said in a small, uncertain voice.

"So what's the trouble, then, Queen B? I thought this was exactly what you wanted."

Blair reached out for Erik's arm, pulling him closer to her, so that nobody could hear what she was saying. "It's exactly what I want; that's the problem. I'm having trouble resisting him. You said it yourself; Bass is in fine form," she said wryly.

"You love him," Erik said softly. "He loves you. There isn't a problem, except you creating one for yourself. Just let yourself be happy, Blair. That's all he wants. There is no secret agenda, except your happiness."

"You don't know that," she countered.

"I've known Chuck my entire life. He wouldn't change for anyone, even his own father. He wouldn't even want to. But he's changed for you, Blair. You, whether you believe it or recognize it, make him want to be a better man."

"I know," she said, and her throat ached with the desire to just blurt it out, say the three words, eight letters without a single ounce of fear or restriction, but silence was too much of a habit, so she just repeated herself. "I  _know_."

"Promise me," Erik said quietly, as the group came to a halt in front of a handful of large pine trees. "Promise me that you'll let him in. Even if you're afraid."

"Why do you even care?" Blair asked because she didn't think she could promise. Though, she asked herself, why had she even come up here if she couldn't let him in? The point remained; whether she could or not, she wanted to. Desperately.

"Because I'm his brother and between me and you, we're the only ones who probably know how hard this is for him."

"You're a good brother," Blair said, after a single beat of silence, squeezing his arm. "And a good friend. Thank you."

"Promise," Erik said warningly.

"Fine. I promise," Blair sighed. "But only because you insist."

"What are you and Erik whispering about over here?" Chuck said warmly, walking over to where they were standing. As if he already knew and wanted to reassure her, he reached out and grasped Blair's hand in his, their gloved fingers intertwining together. "Are you trying to steal the Queen B away, little brother?"

"And who would I be stealing her away from?" Erik asked with a sly, mischievous smile.

Blair held her breath, and she didn't miss the glint in Erik's eyes as he glanced over at her. They both waited for Chuck's inevitable response, but he was saved from actually explaining  _who_ Blair belonged to.

"Chuck, I think Dan and I found the perfect tree!" Serena blundered into the middle of Chuck's confession, excitement bubbling up out of her like lava. Dan followed a step behind her, like an obedient little lap dog.

"Doubtful," Blair said. "You've never been good with decorations, for all your style. Let me see it."

Serena led the way to the tree that she and Dan had found. Blair examined it from every angle, like it was the most important decision she'd ever make. "It's a nice tree," Chuck said as he watched Blair overanalyze the poor evergreen. "I like it."

"Of course you do," Blair snapped.

Chuck just shrugged. "It has nice proportions and it isn't too big. Much larger and I don't know how we'd get it back to the house."

Blair turned to face him, amusement sparkling in her dark eyes. "Oh, I don't think so, Bass. You proved you weren't a weakling when you shoveled your way up the driveway last night."

"Just because I'm competent with a shovel doesn't mean I want to carry a huge  _tree_ all the way back to the house. Besides, do you really want to exhaust me that way?"

"Good point. Natecan exhaust himself, and so can Dan for all I care. But you. . ." she said, leaning in, Erik's promise echoing in her mind, and let her lips brush his, regardless of who was watching. "You need to preserve as much energy as you can. Because you're going to need it tonight."

It was the first time that Blair had promised him, directly or indirectly, that he wouldn't be denied. Of course, they'd nearly re-consummated their relationship this morning, but she'd been half-asleep, still under the influence of Dream Chuck's declaration of love in Tuscany. This was Blair, in the cold light of day, rationally and honestly telling him that she was going to let him have her. Finally.

"Alright," Chuck murmured. "I'll keep that in mind." Reluctantly, he pulled away from her, and turned to Nate, who was watching them warily. "You still have the saw, Archibald?"

"You're capable of cutting a tree down?" Vanessa asked Nate in disbelief. "I'll believe  _that_  when I see it."

"Between the three of us, I'm sure we can manage," Dan said overconfidently, as if a Humphrey, a Bass and an Archibald were no match for a Christmas tree.

"We're stranded," Blair said prosaically. "And I don't feel like walking anyone to the hospital to get a finger sewed back on, so for god's sake, Nate, be careful and don't show off for Brooklyn."

"Dan, you're terrified of sharp implements, maybe you should just let Nate and Chuck do it." Little J added skeptically. "Are you sure this is even a good idea?"

"We'll be fine; we're not exactly  _helpless_ ," Nate retorted grumpily, approaching the tree.

Blair wondered if Nate had even noticed that while he'd brushed aside Abrams' concern as if it was meaningless, Little J's questioning had only set him on edge. As if he couldn't bear to have his manhood challenged—which he couldn't. Men, Blair through with a roll of her eyes, were the most puffed up, egotistical creatures on earth, and Nate Archibald was one of the very worst.

Of course, the worst of them all, stood back and directed the entire enterprise. Because Chuck Bass was Chuck Bass and he couldn't ever  _not_ be in charge.

"You're cutting it too close to the branches," Chuck barked instructions at Nate. "We won't be able to get it into the stand."

"As if you've ever put a tree in a stand before," Nate shot back angrily, pushing a handful of tree branch out of his face, as he bent down and attempted to position the saw at a better angle.

"I don't have to have done it before to know how it's done," Chuck said confidently, as if he was the world's leading expert on Christmas trees.

"If you don't cut the shit, I'm going to make you get down here and do it."

"Not likely. This is a new coat, and it's not going to look quite as dashing if it's covered in sap and pine needles."

Blair had to admit, as she stood there, and admired her old lover and her new, that Chuck had a point. If you were going to wear an ugly label-less blue parka that looked as if you'd unearthed it from the bargain bin, then you were definitely the right person to cut down a tree. Chuck, on the other hand, with his navy blue double breasted wool coat lined in cashmere, matching Hermes scarf and black leather gloves, looked as if he had just walked off 5th Avenue.

Yes, she thought, as she watched them, Chuck giving orders and Nathaniel glaring through the branches of the tree, she had definitely made the right choice in the end.

Between the two of them, they managed to get the thing cut down. Dan, of course, merely hovered on the fringes of the event, looking bug-eyed and terrified every time he came within ten feet of the saw.

"S, I can't say that I'm very impressed with Dan's little problem," Blair told her best friend, as they watched the three men heft the tree up to carry home.

"He doesn't like knives. So what," Serena muttered, clearly tired of having to defend Dan.

"And? Does anyone  _like_ knives? I think I'd be rather disturbed if he displayed an affinity for them. Though I don't think I'd honestly be surprised; he  _is_ from Brooklyn after all. Doesn't your borough boast of a number of famous serial killers?" Blair asked innocently, just loud enough for Dan—and Vanessa—to hear.

"B, seriously. It's just Brooklyn. It's not like it's New Jersey."

"Even you, Serena Van der Woodsen," Erik added, "have more taste and class than that."

"Thanks. Really, your support is amazing," Serena said, rolling her eyes, as they tromped back through the snowy field in the growing dusk. "Besides, I thought you had started to like Dan."

"Like him? No. Tolerate him? Yes."

"I do like Dan," Erik chimed in. "I mean, I guess I'm just confused. I thought you were with Aaron. You know, Blair's  _step-brother._ "

"Oh please. That was so five minutes ago. And don't think I'm going to forget that slip of your tongue, Van der Woodsen. Aaron might be Cyrus' son, but he's  _not_ my brother."

"Just like Chuck isn't mine?" Erik asked.

"That's different. Chuck and you. . .weirdly work in a fraternal way. Aaron and I? We have absolutely nothing in common. Which, incidentally enough, was why you ended up dumping him, S."

"You're half-right. Dan and I . . .sometimes I think we're just inevitable," Serena said, gazing off at her on-again, off-again boyfriend. "No matter how much we try to resist it, we always end up back with each other."

"Don't even get me started on  _that_ subject," Blair said darkly.

"Yeah, we don't  _think_ you and Chuck are inevitable," Erik said. "We all  _know_ you are."


	6. Chapter 6

Despite all of Chuck's dire warnings, fitting the trunk into the Christmas tree stand was actually a rather painless operation, though a messy one. Blair ignored the litter of needles in the foyer as she swept in, thinking that Dorota would love having so much cleaning to do. She could sweep and vacuum and dust to her Polish heart's content.

After a dinner of more waffles, Nate and Dan dragged down box after box of musty Christmas decorations from the attic storage while Jenny, unsurprisingly, took over the actual decorating itself. Blair sat on the couch, her feet curled under her, sipping hot cocoa.

"This is gross," Serena said with a wrinkled nose as she tasted hers. "Is this actually from a powdered mix?"

"Don't be a snob, S. It's all there is," Blair said with a regretful sigh. "The good news is that whoever stocked the pantry did a good job. We don't have any real food, but we do have an all-you-can-eat buffet of Chef Boyardee and canned peas. As well as a fairly extensive selection of powdered cocoa and instant coffee."

Serena let out an exasperated exclamation, and Blair realized that between of the two of them, she was definitely the least high-maintenance.

"It's beautiful out. Just look out the window," she told her best friend, "and you'll forget all about the chalky texture."

Glancing outside, Serena grew still. Dusk was falling, and the dark clouds swirled over the pristine, silvery white landscape. It looked bitterly cold outside, the snow taking on an icy, crystalline sheen. "I think it's going to snow again," Serena said.

"Possibly," Blair said, as if she could care less. "It'll be lovely to have a white Christmas."

As Chuck and Little J got in an argument over strands of white lights, S leaned over, her arm resting on Blair's. "So, tonight then? Does that mean I'm not allowed to interrupt?"

"Yes." Blair knew her voice sounded uncertain, but she couldn't help it. She  _was_ a bit uncertain.

"So you can't be interrupted on pain of certain death?" Serena asked with a little laugh, as if they were discussing another one of her many conquests, all fleeting and ultimately meaningless, not the man Blair was certain was the great love of her life.

"We'll lock the door," Blair managed to force out of her suddenly uncooperative throat. "It's going to be strange enough without the threat of interruption."

"Strange? You two? I mean, not that I ever pictured it because well. . .it's  _Chuck_ and that's just disgusting. But I'm surprised that it would be strange."

Blair looked down at the fluffy afghan covering her legs and picked absently at a loose thread. "It's usually not. Usually it feels like the most natural thing in the world, at least it used to. And then Tuscany happened and . . ."

"Now it feels different," Serena finished.

Blair nodded. "If we sleep together now, I know it's unlikely he'll ever say the words to me. But maybe. . .maybe it doesn't matter anymore."

"Of course it matters," Serena scoffed softly. "It matters to you. You're Blair Waldorf."

"I'm beginning to think I'm not really Blair without him. So, I'm willing to settle. And let's face it; did you really think we were going to sleep in the same bed and not have sex?"

"I think the world just stopped turning. Blair. Settling?"

"Not settling, exactly. I mean I  _know_ he loves me. He knows I know. It's just a matter of him saying it, and maybe he just can't. Maybe we'll be one of those odd couples who just can't admit they love each other."

"Well, you're definitely an odd couple," Serena said, wrinkling her nose again, as if they were powdered cocoa, "but at the same time, the more I see you together, the less odd it is. I thought for so long that you and Nate were ideal for each other, the perfect couple, but you and Chuck are more perfect. Or maybe it's that you and Nate were  _too_ perfect."

Blair instantly knew the answer to that one. "We were way too perfect; a perfect disaster."

"Blair," Chuck said, and she looked up to see him standing across the room, looking at her with amusement. "What are you talking to S about so intently? I've been trying to get your attention for five minutes."

"It wasn't that long," Blair said with a graceful smile, rising to her feet. "What is it?"

Chuck gestured to the ladder that was set next to the decorated tree. "It's done, except for the angel. I thought our Queen B should do the honors."

"A ladder?" Blair lifted an eyebrow and gave the offending article a dubious glance.

"I'll help you."

"Bass, you know I don't like heights."

"It's only a few feet. Don't tell me that Blair Waldorf is chicken?"

"Hardly." Blair snatched the angel out of Chuck's hands, the stiff satin of the dress crinkling in her hands. "Just make sure I don't kill myself."

"You know I'd never permit that," he said smoothly, resting his hands on either side of the ladder and steadying it as she carefully climbed up several steps.

"And stop checking out my butt," she couldn't help sniping. Her back might be to him, but she knew exactly where he was staring.

"I'm sorry, but that's  _always_ something I permit," Chuck informed her.

Blair leaned forward on her tip toes, placing the angel on the top most branches, adding an extra wiggle to her movement, just to torture him a little bit. "How does that look? Jenny, is it straight?"

"A little to the left," Erik called out from his vantage point near the back of the living room.

Blair leaned in again, shifting it as he'd suggested. "Better. That's perfect, B," Serena said.

"Turn out the lights, I want to see the total effect," Jenny said, as Blair descended the ladder. Her stocking feet hit the floor unsteadily and Chuck automatically reached out a hand to catch her.

"Are you alright?" he asked huskily, noticing instantly that she hadn't pulled away from him, but instead seemed to be leaning in every closer to him. This was so new to them—actually being able to enjoy each other's proximity without being forced to pretend they hated it.

"I'm fine." Blair gazed up into his dark eyes as she reached up and pushed a strand of his hair back from his forehead. "Better than fine, actually. Thank you. For the angel," she clarified. As if a simple Christmas ornament was really what this was about.

"Just the angel?"

Damn him, Blair thought with a blinding inner smile, he could read her way too well. "For this. For tonight," she told him, leaning in to kiss him.

The lights dimmed then, and they stood back, their arms around each other, and gazed at the culmination of all their efforts.

"It's beautiful," Blair whispered, so momentarily surprised that she said what she felt with absolutely no verbal filter, without realizing that she was admitting that Little Jenny from Brooklyn had actually done a good job—that  _all_ of them had done a good job together.

"It is," Chuck affirmed, but she didn't look up to see that he wasn't gazing at the tree like everyone else. His eyes were on Blair and only Blair.

"I was wondering where you'd gone," Chuck said, leaning against the doorframe, watching Blair as she sat in the bubble-filled tub. "You escaped."

"I didn't want to hear Dan and Vanessa bicker over that stupid game any longer," Blair said, trying to unobtrusively sink lower into the tub. Which was stupid and embarrassing. The lights were dimmed, with only candles scattered throughout the bathroom, giving tiny flickers of light that dancing across the marble surfaces. Plus, it wasn't as if Chuck hadn't seen her naked before.

And not just seen. He'd tasted and felt and licked every single inch of her, practically. Her skin suddenly felt too hot, even though the bathwater had begun to cool.

"You hate losing," he said smugly.

"I didn't lose. I simply didn't understand the rules. I maintain that Versace was an excellent choice. V on a triple letter score, in fact."

"Except that it was against the rules."

"I didn't think I'd ever hear the day you'd be espousing the following of any rules whatsoever, Bass."

"Oh, I'm not. I'm simply clarifying that you made the right decision. Arguing with Humphrey and Abrams over whether Versace is an allowable word in Scrabble isn't worth your time; on the other hand, taking a long, hot bath—that's an entirely different story."

Blair knew by the way that his eyes were tracing every line of her body that he could see her through the rapidly disappearing bubbles. She could be the prey, she decided, and let him have the control, or she could snatch it right back.

"Could you hand me that towel there?" she asked casually, lifting herself from the water in one smooth motion. "I believe I'm finished." She stood there, dripping wet, and let him look his fill, as if it was the easiest thing in the world, except that it was so terrifying that Blair's stomach was doing sickening somersaults.

"Are you sure that's necessary? I'd be happy to dry you off myself," Chuck said, slowly shucking his jacket on the floor and beginning to unbutton his shirt. "Of course, I can't imagine you'd end up very dry."

"Maybe," she said huskily, her skin now flaming at the way he was gazing at her—with love and passion and so much lust she thought she might spontaneously combust with it. "But then, maybe I don't want you to dry me off."

"Are you sure?" he asked, laying one hand on the naked, wet flesh of her waist. Blair forced herself to meet his eyes, not to look down or blush or let him see how scared she was that he'd find her lacking somehow. Yes, he'd seen her this way before, but never so openly, and it had been months—so many long, endless, pointless months apart.

Blair looked up into his eyes, the candles reflected in their dark, endless depths, the sense of déjà vu and his nearness overwhelming her, and she kissed him.

It was all the answer he needed her to give—that night, and tonight. His hands slid more firmly across her skin, pressing her closely to him, and they kissed deeply, passionately, her tongue exploring the dark cavern of his mouth.

The water underneath her splashed as she wrenched his shirt open, the tinkling sounds of the buttons hitting the marble tub dull and far away because of the sudden, insistent roaring in her ears. "I have to have you now," she gasped, as she unsuccessfully tried to navigate out of the tub without letting go of him and without moving one millimeter away from his body.

Chuck's lips slid down the column of her neck, the way his teeth sank into her damp flesh mirroring the way his fingers pressed into her torso. "No," he nearly grunted. "I'm not rushing this. I've wanted you for too long."

"Don't be ridiculous," she gasped as his fingers trailed over the undersides of her breasts. "This isn't going to happen just once. Take me now."

"If you insist. But just so you know, if I have to tie you to the bed, you're not leaving it for a long,  _long_ time." She bit down hard on the soft flesh of his ear, giving her assent that he could whatever he wished with her, as long as he took her  _now_.

Blair thought he might have groaned something about playing rough into her own ear, but she was too lost in the sensation he was creating as his lips coasted down her neck to her shoulder and his hands . . .

"Bed now," she demanded in a groan that might have been her, or it might have been him. She was too lost in the moment to either think or hear correctly.

He lifted her out of the water as if she weighed nothing, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, instinctually rubbing against the hard ridge of his erection. "Good boy," she purred into his ear, gripping his shoulders hard. Blair felt weightless as he deposited her on the bed, and she heard rustling as he shed the rest of his water-logged clothes.

Then he loomed above her, his body both different from the months they'd spent apart—firmer, more masculine somehow, as if he'd grown up and she'd missed that transition from a boy to a man—and still hauntingly familiar. He pressed his body into hers, and one of them moaned, at the sudden, overwhelming feel of his flesh on hers. Even a brush of their fingers in the last six months had caused a flurry of electric sparks to race up her arms, but this felt as if he'd unleashed a full blown electrical storm inside her and her skin couldn't possibly contain it all.

Blair wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him closer, forcing him to rub against her. A hand caught her leg and traveled up it, his fingertips wrenching away the cold exterior of her wet skin and unleashing the fire underneath. He stroked her once, then twice, leaving her wordless and mindless and gasping, desperate for something more than just a teasing touch.

"Please," she begged, the trailing wet ends of her hair obscuring her vision as her head thrashed in desperation. " _Chuck_."

He slid a finger inside her slowly, and her fingers, already gripping his shoulders tightly, bit down hard into his skin. "Patience," he said again, and she thought his voice might have been breathless, but it was hard to tell because another finger joined the first, finding the place inside her that had always sent her over the edge, and she was already too close—too many months of her own inadequate, feeble attempts to make her feel as he had. They had been mere ghosts on her skin, inside of her, around her. He was real and hard and so hot she thought there might be steam rising from their damp, warm bodies.

She twisted towards him, needing him to send her over that edge more than breath or ration or reason, but before he could, before he could force her to that precipice, his fingers were suddenly gone, and she was reeling back.

She thought he might have made some kind of incredulous noise, but she was too busy straining at him, grasping at him with her hands, desperate for him to complete her. "I can't wait," he said, and his voice was a guttural admission of his lack of self-control. "Too long. Want you too much."

Blair would have agreed with him, but the voice inside her was trapped in a long silent scream of need and desire and want and  _love_. I want you, the words chanted inside her head, I need you, I  _love_ you.

He fumbled for a condom, and didn't look down because he knew he'd see that his fingers were shaking.  _Shaking_ for a woman. No, he corrected, not just for any woman. For _Blair_.

Blair.

He looked down then, her damp hair in spread in tangles around her head—his dark, twisted angel. The other half of him. The drumbeat of his heart echoed the words she so longed to hear, but they were stuck inside of him, caught and tangled up with the fear and the terror. Maybe he couldn't say it, but he could show it, he thought, as he slid home. He could make her feel like nobody else, make her feel alive, whole,  _real_ , and maybe in the process, he could absorb some of her white hot life into his cold heart.

He gripped her legs and stroked mindlessly into her, feeling her clench around him as her body met his. She kissed him, then, a wild, mating of two people who have everything to gain and nothing to lose. He felt her desperation in her lips and her tongue, and he knew she was so close she could taste it. Blair, the Queen B, desperate to lose control, to lose it all to him.

He flipped her over, and pushed her hair to the side, baring the nape of her neck as he filled her relentlessly. Without thinking, only feeling, his teeth grazed that intoxicatingly seductive slope of her nape. She tensed against him, and then gripped him, milked him with the intensity of her release. Her hands clenched the sheets and he thought she might have cried into the bedding, but the moment she lost it, he tumbled after her, and he could only ride the wave as he spilled into her.

Blair's heart thumped erratically as she fell back to earth. At first, she could only feel the rasp of his chest hair against her back, but then she swallowed compulsively and tasted cotton and her own hair. Rising a little, she pushed the errant strands out of her mouth, and realized that the pain she felt was his teeth on her neck, clamping down on the sensitive skin there. "Chuck," she mumbled. "Off."

He rolled off her, withdrawing. They lay there, silent, Blair subconsciously fingering the tender places on her neck where he'd asserted both his control and his possession of her body.

"That was . . ." he finally said, as if words couldn't encompass the reality of the moment.

"Amazing," Blair finished for him. "But it was us. Did you expect anything different?"

"No," he said, smirking a little as he turned to face her. "But I meant what I said. You're not going anywhere."

"Do you see me trying to escape?" she said, stretching her legs languorously. "I already told Serena she wasn't allowed to disturb us. I sure as hell hope you locked the door, because I'm not letting you out of this bed for awhile."

"And I don't want to leave it," he told her seriously, placing a tender kiss on her lips, "but I need to. Just for a moment, anyway."

Blair closed her eyes, and felt the bed shift as he got up, his feet making quiet, padding sounds on the thick carpeting. "It's snowing again," he said, as he pulled open the drapes. "Hard."

But Blair was too busy relaxing, her muscles unwinding, her cold outer armor shifting and melting in the warm aftermath, and she didn't care about anything right now, especially the weather.

"I'm serious," Chuck said again, his voice growing concerned. "I've never seen so much snow in my life."

"Come back to bed," Blair purred, a little offended that after what they'd just shared, he could be so interested in the  _weather_. "I'm still here, and more importantly, I'm still naked."

"I know," Chuck replied, and Blair could tell he was distracted by something. She sat up a little, her eyes taking in the small bedside lamp he'd switched on. He stood at the window, as naked as she was, staring out into the snow-covered landscape.

"What's wrong?" she said, wrapping a throw around her body and slowly sliding out of bed.

"The weather report," Chuck said absently, and Blair could see as she walked closer that he hadn't been staring out the window, but into his phone.

"What does it say?"

"Snow, snow, and more snow."

"Well, thank you. I got that," she snipped, trying to lean closer so she could see the screen.

"The Meteorological Service is calling for two feet of snow just tonight, with no signs of stopping."

"Two feet?" Even though Blair had no real comprehension of what two feet of snow could mean, even she thought that sounded rather extreme, and yes, worrisome.

"It'll be fine," Chuck said, his eyes rising to meet hers, and Blair was fairly sure he was doing that thing where his eyes didn't match his mouth. Her gaze narrowed and she rested a hand on his arm.

"Chuck, tell me what's going on." It wasn't a question, it was a royal demand.

"I think. . ." he paused, "I think we might be in for an interesting few days."

"What do you mean by  _interesting_ , exactly?"

"I mean. . ." But before Chuck could explain what he meant, the bedside lamp went out, leaving them drenched in sudden darkness, the only light a few of the candles still flickering in the bathroom.

"What the hell!" Blair exclaimed, as if the lamp had dared to commit a crime against her and the King of the Upper East Side. "What happened to the light?"

"I think we've just lost electricity," Chuck said softly.

**Uh oh. Looks as if the storm of the century has decided to gate crash this affair to remember. But even Chuck Bass can't have the weather thrown out. Watch out, Queen B-if you can even see in front of you. This winter wonderland is about to get nasty.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Spotted: A whole lot of nothing, Upper East Siders. It pains me to admit this, but I've lost contact with our royal court, who are currently experiencing the very opposite of a winter getaway. Just the thought of all that juicy gossip happening without me knowing makes me anxious, so I think I'll have another hot cocoa—spiked, of course—watch the snow and speculate about our favorite couple. Join me?**

" _This is unforgivable_ ," Blair gritted between her teeth as she held her hands out in front of her and cautiously tread towards the closet—and her clothes, ignoring the fact that Chuck was on the phone and not even listening to her. The candles in the bathroom were dying a quick death on their own wax, and Blair knew it was almost a matter of time before they were plunged into complete darkness. "Give me your damn phone. I need the light to find the closet." Another candle flickered out, and then another.

"You know I'm on the phone, Blair," Chuck shot back. "Using some influence to get us some damn power."

Blair grimaced and shot him one of the strongest glares in her arsenal before she remembered that he couldn't see her; she couldn't even see her hand if she held it up front of her face. "Well, tell them if they don't get the electricity on now, there will only be ash left after I'm done with them."

"I'll make sure to let them know," he said with amusement.

Her outstretched hands hit the wall, which she thought might have been the opposing wall. "I don't appreciate this happening while I'm  _naked_ ," she sniffed as she felt along the wall for the door to the closet. She was too outraged about her lack of luck to care if Chuck even heard her. "So inconvenient."

"You mean it's inconvenient that even though we're both naked, we can't even find each other in the same damn room," Chuck said with far too much amusement in his voice. Blair glared, again remembering too late that the subject of her wrath was just as blind as she was.

There was a dull thud, and then Chuck exclaimed. "Ouch. Fuck, that hurt."

"Be careful, darling," Blair called out facetiously. "It's a little dark."

"Fucking bed. It attacked me," Chuck growled.

"That wasn't what you were saying a few minutes ago," Blair said. "So what did the electric company say? Did you impress on them your position and your money and your bitchy female friend who has no problem committing social murder? Finally," she exclaimed as her hands found the doorway to the closet. " _Clothes_."

"Unfortunately, they seemed less than impressed with all the above."

Blair was digging through her purse—or at least what felt like her Chanel bag—trying to find her cell phone to give her  _some_ kind of light, before she went riffling through her suitcase. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Believe me, I wish I was. Apparently most of the state is without power. This is the largest snowstorm in fifty years. Maybe even longer. One of the supervisors I spoke to actually  _laughed_ when I told him who I was."

"Laughed as in bowed in abject submission?" Blair asked hopefully.

"No. Not exactly."

"I hope you got his name. I'm sure it won't be too difficult to exact some form of retribution. You know, when we aren't  _stuck_ in the middle of nowhere with no light and no power and no heat." A shiver punctuated her phrase, and it was at that moment that the full difficulty of their situation really hit her.

"Chuck," she continued, a bit more hesitantly, "no electricity doesn't only mean no light. It means no heat. It's already getting colder in here. I can feel it."

"That's just because you're naked and god knows where in this room. Get your fine ass over here and I'll keep you warm."

Blair gritted her teeth together in annoyance. "Dumbass, even  _you're_ going to get cold soon. So I'm not going to depend on you as a source of heat."

"I've got warm blankets right here," Chuck said in a low voice, and she felt her nerve endings tingle all over again.

"No," she said resolutely, shaking off the temptation to go back and join him in bed. "Besides, do you know what the first thing everyone will do when they realize the power's out?"

Chuck groaned, realizing the answer to her question meant that he'd be dragged out of the warm cocoon of blankets one way or the other.

"Come get dressed," Blair ordered. "Unless you want to be naked when everyone shows up."

"It's not like they can even  _see_ anyway," Chuck grumbled, but she heard his feet hit the hardwood floor, and pad over in the direction of her voice.

"Here," she said, finally locating her cell phone after what felt like  _hours_ of rummaging through her purse. Why hadn't Dorota put in the side pocket the way she'd  _told_ her millions of times? "Follow the light of my cell. I finally managed to find the closet. With no help from you, I might add."

"Surprisingly resourceful, Waldorf. I'll make sure to pack you on my next survivalist excursion."

"Someone has to  _think_ ," Blair snapped, "and it's clearly not going to be you."

There was another loud bang as Chuck hit what Blair thought might have been the edge of the door frame. "Fuck," he growled. "You're supposed to be helping me, not leading me astray."

"Yes, because considering our history, I'm typicallythe one leading  _you_ astray," Blair retorted sarcastically. "Here. Follow this." She thrust the lit-up phone up into the black hole of the closet, and to her surprise, felt the plastic make contact with the soft flesh of his face.

"Damnit, Blair. Be  _careful_ ," Chuck said, "I'm right here. Christ."

From the dim light of the phone, she could see him rubbing his jaw, where she'd hit him. "It was an accident. I thought you were a lot farther away."

"Obviously." He sounded more annoyed than he'd been since they'd left, which Blair didn't understand. He was more upset that she'd accidentally hit him because she couldn't  _see_ anything than when he'd been forced to shovel snow or eat waffles for an entire day straight? It made no sense, except . . .

Apprehension settled thick and heavy into her stomach, heavier even than the waffles that Little J had concocted. She should know by now what he was doing because this was what he always did. They'd have their machinations and their squabbles, followed by an excessively passionate reunion, and then he'd panic because he didn't know how to do  _this_ —be the other half of the happy couple.

Blair tried taking a deep breath. The last thing he needed was to know that she was mentally recounting every single time that he'd bailed on her: when he'd compared her to Bart's sweaty old horse, the abandonment in Tuscany, a few months ago when he'd told her that they had to  _wait_  to be together—for what, she still wasn't sure.

Well, now they were together, whatever that meant, and it still didn't seem like this was what he wanted—not if he'd get all pissed off over a stupid accident.

"Wait," Blair said, a thought suddenly occurring to her that was even scarier than his rejection. "What about your phone? You could have used that for light."

"It died," Chuck admitted ruefully. "Part of why I got out of bed in the first place was to plug it into the charger. . ."

"And now you can't," Blair finished. "Because we don't have any power."

"Exactly."

"And the phone call with the power company?"

"Died halfway through me wading through a bunch of junior-level executives," he said with frustration.

"Oh," Blair said in a small voice. That explained a lot. He'd wanted to lash out at  _something_ —and it had become impossible to do that with the people he'd picked to be his personal whipping boys.

There was a moment of silence, as Blair turned back to her suitcase, and tried to hold her phone with one hand and rummage through it with the other, which was difficult both because the suitcase lid kept falling down and she had no idea what Dorota had packed.

"Wait," Chuck said in an odd tone, as if he'd just found the missing piece of the puzzle, "you thought I was mad at  _you_?"

Men, Blair thought with annoyance, it didn't matter if they were as brilliant as Chuck Bass, they were  _still_ stupid. Yes, she'd traded up from Nathaniel, who didn't have much going on upstairs, but even Chuck could be obtuse at times.

"Of course, I did. What else was I supposed to think? I didn't  _mean_ to hit you in the face. You know that. I was just trying to  _help_ you."

"I'm sorry," he said haltingly, as if he didn't say those words very often, which Blair knew was true. "I guess. . .I didn't think. I don't want to screw this up."

And just like that, the heaviness lifted, and  _stupid Basshole,_ she melted all over again. If he ever discovered just how susceptible she was to that slightly vulnerable, apologetic tone, she'd be dead in the water. Instead, she pushed up the suitcase lid for the millionth time and said, "I know, but you're going to screw up. All the time, probably. So I'm just going to have to get used to forgiving you. It's a huge imposition, but I suppose I'll make the sacrifice and do it."

"How selfless of you, my dear," Chuck chuckled, wrapping his arms around her naked torso. She wondered if he'd seen through her, or if she'd managed to fool him this time. Dating Nate had been safe bordering on boring at points, but at the very least, he'd been easier to manipulate.

"Hands off," Blair said, indecisively trying to wiggle out of his grasp. "Serena and Dan will be in here any minute, and we don't have time for this."

"I locked the door, remember? They can wait." His fingertips grazed over her skin insistently, and he leaned down, murmuring into her ear. "Don't you remember us being together like this? When the lights went off before and you were with that excuse for a man."

"But I'm not with him now," she said coyly, pressing her body against his, strangely grateful that they might have an opportunity to redo that disastrous evening. "And for the record, it was never him I wanted. It was only you."

"I know it now, even if we didn't know it then. . ." Chuck said, pressing his mouth to hers. They stumbled backwards, blind in the darkness as Blair's cell phone fell, forgotten, from her fingers, as she clutched at his shoulders. "Blair," he said breathlessly, pulling away, "I. . ."

Blair's heart stopped in her chest and she opened her eyes slowly, wishing that she could see his face, because this was the moment she had waited for so long for. His hands reached up to cradle her face, and he said, "I know I haven't always been what you've wanted, or even what you needed. But that's going to change. I want to be better for you. You were right; I'm going to screw up. It's in my blood, but maybe if you know. . .maybe if you understand, just how much I care about you, then it'll be alright."

Chuck's voice was gravely and halting, and Blair rested her forehead against his as he continued. She wished again, pointlessly, that she could see his face, that he could see hers, so that he would know how much she loved him too.

_Just say it, say the words_ , her heart was singing,  _say them_. But instead of hearing what she'd dreamed of, a horrible banging noise intruded into the darkness that cloaked them.

"What was that?" Chuck said abruptly, pulling away from her. Blair wanted to sink to the floor, and pound out her frustration on the hardwood. He had been  _this_ close—the closest he'd ever been.

"It's Serena," Blair said instead, trying to keep her voice neutral. "I told you that she'd find us."

And then he was gone, his skin no longer pressed against hers, and she could hear him, riffling through his own suitcase for something to wear.

Blair wasn't stupid; she knew that part of the reason he'd been able to even  _consider_ saying the words was because she couldn't see his face. The anonymity of it made it safer, and now she would never know if he'd been about to take that irrevocable step. Because until they were said, whatever this relationship was, was possibly only temporary and transient—a passing fancy. He could still panic and run away, like he'd done so many times before.

It was with a heavy heart that she returned attention to her own suitcase, regretting that she had no idea what Dorota had packed. Finally, she found a pair of silk pajamas and managed to pull them on in the dark.

"I'm going to go unlock the door," Chuck said, his voice awkwardly filling the silence that had fallen between them. How many more times were they going to reach the precipice only to stumble backwards? Blair swallowed hard, wiling the tears to go away so that he wouldn't know how much he'd hurt her again.

"Alright. I'm dressed too. I'll go with you. Let me just find my phone. I . . .I dropped it."  _Stupid_ , Blair thought to herself savagely,  _just stumble over your words so that he knows how flustered you are_.

She dropped to her knees again, digging around on the floor, her fingers searching fruitlessly for the phone's compact plastic shape. Blair didn't want to even contemplate how ridiculous she looked, on her hands and knees, scrambling for her phone blindly. It was humiliating, even if Chuck couldn't see her.

Finally, just as her panic and the hurt were about to swell out of her throat, her fingers closed over it. "Found it," she said in relief, getting to her feet again and hitting a button so that the screen light would come on.

"How much battery do you have?" he asked as they cautiously made their way out of the closet. Blair couldn't look at the bed, at Chuck's clothes that were littered around it, and the mess of the blankets. At the time having sex with him again had seemed inevitable, but now she wasn't sure she hadn't made a huge tactical error. All those fantasies where he told her, tenderly and sweetly, as they made love for the first time since last spring, had faded into dust. They hadn't even made love, Blair thought bitterly, they'd practically mauled each other, and she was probably marked everywhere from his insistent fingers and even his teeth. The nape of her neck, where he'd bitten her, was sore and she was fairly sure that he'd left evidence behind.

She glanced down at the phone screen. "Less than half," she said with growing panic. "We've got to find candles and lighters and flashlights before it dies totally."

"I didn't think I'd ever say this, but at least S is here. Maybe her phone has some more power. I don't think yours is going to last long enough."

Blair swallowed down all her insecurities and her annoyance at herself for being weak where that Motherchucker was concerned and tried to focus on the problem at hand.

"Light's only one of the problems," she said, as they moved past the bedroom doorway, into the lounge area of their suite. "What about heat?"

Chuck gestured to the large fireplace inset into the opposite wall. "We're going to have to find some wood, and burn it, I guess. And pray that the electricity comes back sooner rather than later."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then," Chuck said with more than a hint of lechery as they reached the main door to the suite, "we're going to have spend a lot of time  _really_ close together."

Before the truce and this trip up north, Blair would have hit him and told him she thought he was vile. That would have been her normal, and nearly instinctual, reaction, though he knew she didn't mean it. But it didn't seem right to say it now, when it was crystal clear that she'd love that more than just about anything else.

Blair realized that they'd become rather complacent in his role as the seducer and hers as the seducee. Who said that this was the way it had to be? She liked having sex with him—a  _lot_ — and there didn't seem to be a lot of point in pretending otherwise. So she grabbed him and pinned him up against the wall next to the door, even though they could both hear Serena, yelling at them to open the damn door. "Really?" she whispered seductively, as she pressed her body against his. "I'd like that. . .a lot."

"Blair," Chuck breathed raggedly, as she ran her hands up his silk-covered chest. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Are you saying you don't like it?" she murmured as she captured his ear between her lips and nibbled at the sensitive skin there with her teeth. "I thought you liked playing rough and all I had to do was ask."

"Ah . . .um. . . _yes_ ," Chuck stumbled, and Blair thought that she loved seeing him totally unmanned like this. Flustered Chuck was quickly becoming one of her favorite versions of him.

"Cat got your tongue?" she purred, before kissing him passionately, slipping her own tongue between his lips, and casually and deliberately letting her fingers graze his now rigid length through his loose silk pajama pants.

Chuck exhaled hard as she pulled away. "Holy shit," he said, almost to himself, as she smiled at him innocently. "I think I've created a monster."

"Not a monster," she told him flippantly as she unlocked the door. "Just a queen."

"What are you talking about, B?" Serena asked as she flew into the room, her blond hair reflecting in the dim light of the cell phone. Hers was out too, and she was holding it in front of her, as she and Dan—only a step behind, as usual—entered the room.

"Nothing of importance," Blair said lightly, aware that Chuck was behind her, still flabbergasted. Wins came so infrequently since she and Bass had started this game of theirs, but because they were harder-won, they were also a lot more satisfying. Out-maneuvering Nate hadn't been nearly as fun because 1) he hadn't ever been a worthy opponent and 2) he'd never really cared.

"Chuck," Serena said, turning her attention to him. "What is going on? What happened to the electricity?"

Serena, just like Nate, was way easier to crack than she should have been. "What do you think, S?" Blair snapped. "There's a  _blizzard_ going on outside. That we didn't lose power before this is miraculous."

Serena just looked at her assessingly, up and down, and Blair tried to not follow S's eyes, but she couldn't help herself. She wanted to know what was making her best friend smirk at her like that. And to her horror, when she did look, she discovered that the pajamas that she'd dressed in while in the dark closet were on completely backwards.

"I won't ask what you were doing before you got dressed in the dark," Serena said with amusement.

"Good. Because I thought we had a deal, that you wouldn't bother us tonight. Luckily Chuck locked the door, or there's no telling what you might have seen," Blair retorted.

"For the record, I wouldn't have interrupted you unless something  _dire_ happened. And oh, guess what, the  _lights_ went out."

Blair rolled her eyes and was in the middle of considering the best possible way to tear Serena down to size when Chuck intervened. "Girls, girls. There's no need to get into a tiff about this," he said smoothly, taking a step between them. "Yes, we lost electricity, but I'm hoping it's only temporary. I had a call into the power company, but my phone died halfway through the conversation."

"You mean halfway through you twisting arms and threatening kneecaps?" Dan interjected.

"We do things a little different than you Brooklyn hobos," Blair sneered, "but we're not exactly the Godfather. Chuck just understands, like me, that the best way to see results is to use our influence. It's a lesson you would be smart to pick up on."

"What lesson?" Blair looked up to see Erik and Jenny in the doorway.

"Blair was just explaining. . .the Bass and the Waldorf way of accomplishing difficult tasks," Serena explained to her brother. "You understand."

Erik nodded solemnly. "I've always thought you could give Vito Corleone a run for his money, B," he said.

Blair's eyes grew wide and the whole group tensed for an explosion, but Chuck was too quick. "I'm sure what Erik means is that he admires what kind of results you can bring to the table, darling," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and dropping a single kiss on her hair. His glare over Blair's head made it perfectly clear that any more comparisons of Blair Waldorf to the Godfather would be looked upon extremely unfavorably.

"Did we miss S asking why the power was out?" Erik asked impudently.

"You did," Chuck said smoothly, "but I'll be happy to enlighten you as well, if it's required. Though I think you lucked out little brother, and you missed out on the oblivious half of the Rhodes genes."

"Very funny, Chuck," Serena said frostily, crossing her arms across her chest. "Just get on with what we're going to do and leave the insults out."

"I told you that everyone would expect you to take care of everything," Blair hissed melodramatically.

"As if anyone else would be capable," Erik said loyally. "He's Chuck Bass."

Blair felt a nasty retort on the tip of her tongue, her temper flaring out of control, but she hesitated when she saw the way that everyone was looking at her and Chuck. She'd slowly been realizing just what their new relationship meant in terms of Upper East Side politics, but this newest development drove home the truth that the two most powerful camps in the UES had just united. Blair had always believed that the Virgin Queen had had the right idea; ruling alone meant that your power was absolute. There were no consorts, no husbands, no partners to share with.

But, Blair thought as she gazed speculatively at the group surrounding them, there was definitely something to be said to condensing power by joining her throne with another. Nathaniel, while definitely occupying a position that  _could_ have led to power, hadn't ever really wanted it. He'd been fine with settling for laidback mediocrity. But Chuck was a Bass, and settling wasn't in their vocabulary. Of course, the territories he'd amassed were slightly varied from her own, and covered a different side of Upper East Side life, but that just meant that there was  _more_ power to go around.

So, instead of being insulted that Erik had automatically believed Chuck's influence more powerful than her own—that he could ever accomplish anything she couldn't—Blair took a deep breath and let him do what he was good at. Honestly, she wouldn't know  _who_ to talk to at the power company. She would have eventually gotten answers, but she had a feeling that Chuck's would be better and quicker.

In the end, it wasn't even giving in; it was letting her consort, her  _king_ , deal with the part of their monarchy that he was best at, and she would do the same.

"Unfortunately," she said sweetly, changing tactics— _supporting_ the man beside her, she told herself, "I didn't charge my phone when we got here. So Chuck couldn't call back from mine. S, how's your battery?"

Serena glanced down at her phone. "It's almost fully charged," she admitted, extending it towards Chuck.

He took it, and dialed the number, but before he pressed send, he paused and looked up at everyone. "I'm going to deal with this," he said, "but just in case, nobody should use their phone except for emergencies. We need to preserve battery life as much as possible, because there's no telling when we'll have electricity back. And it would be incredibly stupid to be caught up here without a way to contact the outside world. Because if you haven't noticed , there's a hell of a lot of snow on the ground. And Blair. . .can you take care of the rest?" He waved at the rest of the group, and she knew exactly what he meant. There were things that couldn't wait until morning, and so she took the other half of their combined power and turned towards the group.

"We need to find something to heat our rooms . . ." Blair began but Little J, who'd clearly  _still_ not gotten the memo that Blair was Queen, interrupted.

"Can't it wait until morning?"

"Now, I'm not a survivalist," Blair began.

"That's for damn sure," Erik said under his breath, and Blair gave him a reproving look.

"I'm not a survivalist," Blair started again through gritted teeth, "but I do know that it's really cold outside, and now that there's no power heating this house, it's going to get just as cold inside. So unless you want to be icicles, then we can't wait until morning. Oh good," she added, as she caught a glimpse of Nate and Vanessa down the hallway, "the rest of us are here and accounted for. That means we can start dividing up to find wood."

"Wood?" Erik asked incredulously. "You mean to chop?"

"I don't know about chopping," Blair said, secretly hoping that there would be no chopping. They'd all lived in the city their entire life, even the Brooklynites, and there was no way that anyone had any experience chopping wood. Their idea of 'roughing it' was going to a five star log mansion complete with servants and champagne brunches in bed. "Whatever we find, we're going to have to start fires with it, in everyone's rooms. I'm going to get my coat. Everyone meet me downstairs in five minutes."

"Blair, are you serious? Wood? Fires? The electricity will back on before you know it," Nate said with thinly-disguised patronizing tone. Blair didn't miss that his arm was wrapped around Vanessa, and they looked just about as disheveled as she and Chuck did. Vanessa. Really? Blair was offended that anyone could possibly go from her, the  _Queen B_ , to a hippy art chick from Brooklyn, but really, she thought, there was clearly no accounting for personal taste.

"Chuck's on the phone with the power company now," Blair told Nate loftily, practically ordering him to respect her, "he believes that it'll probably be awhile before we get electricity back, and it's never bad to be prepared."

"I guess," Nate shrugged.

"Actually," Vanessa added, "I think it's not a bad idea. I mean, we already noticed how cold it was getting. If we lose power for even twenty fours, with the snow this bad, that would be an ideal situation, we'll definitely need something to keep us warm in this huge lodge."

Blair didn't think she'd ever experience a moment where she and Abrams were on the same page. Hell had clearly frozen over—along with most of New York.

"Yes," she nodded, agreeing with Vanessa, but refusing to do so in any more words than were absolutely necessary. "So unless you'd like to freeze, Archibald, I suggest you find a coat and come help."

**Still no news from our intrepid travelers. I'm tipsy and more than a little worried they're caught in the huge power outage that's sweeping New York. Just between the two of us, while Bass, Waldorf and Co. are used to taking the heat, I'm not sure they can handle this chill. Stay tuned, because, baby, it's definitely cold outside.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Rumors are spreading like wildfire in the cold dead of night—rumors that all that Blair Waldorf wants for Christmas is Chuck Bass. I can't confirm or deny, of course, but whoever _can_ receives our eternal gratitude, beautifully gift-wrapped.**

Five minutes after shooing off Nate and Vanessa, Blair tightened her coat with her free hand and as she held her phone out with her other, she carefully made her way down the staircase to the foyer. They'd agreed to meet there to search for different sources of light as well as wood to burn in the fireplaces.

Jenny was sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, her blond hair glowing in the dim light of the phone, looking so like Serena from the back that for a second, Blair almost thought it was her best friend. But as Blair walked closer, she realized the shade was more bleached than honey blond, and that S would never, ever permit her hair to be that ratty.

Serena, unlike Little J, had apparently heard of trimming to prevent split ends.

As Blair hit the last step, Jenny turned to see who'd joined her, and her expression went cold and rigid. "Oh, it's just you," Jenny said, trying hard to be condescending—too hard, Blair thought.

"I really doubt that anyone else would say that it was 'just' me, but considering our history, I'll grant you a free pass," Blair told her, taking a seat on the step above her. It was instinctual, she realized, to sit above everyone else, regardless that these weren't exactly the Met Steps.

"Our history?" Jenny frowned, her nose crinkling unattractively.

"There's an extremely short list of girls I respect," Blair explained, "and despite everything you've done to remove yourself, it seems that you're still on it."

"Blair. . .I. . .I guess I don't know what to say," she said awkwardly. And right there, Blair thought with annoyance, was the reason that she hadn't yet started grooming Little J as her successor to the Constance Billard crown. The Queen always knew what to say; it was practically a job requirement—and if you didn't know, you'd  _never_ admit it.

"That's not the end of it," Blair said with a little moue of disgust. "I'm even going to help you."

"Help me?"

Blair rolled her eyes. Jenny was going to have to be a lot quicker on the uptake if she ever hoped to steal Nate away from Vanessa. "Nathaniel Archibald, Little J. I know you still like him. I don't think you ever stopped. And he's yours for the taking, if you want him."

"I'm confused," Jenny said slowly. "Nate's with Vanessa now. He's not exactly available."

"Semantics," Blair said with airy wave of her hand. "You should know this better than almost anyone else."

"You're going to help me get Nate," Jenny stated, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

Blair shrugged. "It appears that I am."

"Why?" Jenny's gaze narrowed, as if she didn't believe in her sudden good fortune, and Blair remembered why she'd initially thought Jenny had the makings of a good Queen—she was shrewd and smart and had nerves of steel.

"Vanessa's totally wrong for him. He'll realize this eventually, but it suits my purposes to have him end his little Brooklyn tour sooner rather than later."

"I'm from Brooklyn," Jenny clarified. "So it's not like he's going to be trading up in your book."

"And that's where you're wrong. You may be  _physically_ from Brooklyn, but you're like us, Jenny Humphrey. You're more like me than you realize."

"You really think you can force him to dump Vanessa?" Jenny still sounded skeptical.

"You're kidding, right?"

"I suppose you do know him better than just about anyone else," J conceded.

"You leave it up to me. Me and Chuck, that is. We've got it handled." Blair couldn't help the self-satisfaction that leaked into her tone. Arranging things was what she was best at, and she'd been so caught up in her stupid obsession with the Basshole that she hadn't indulged in far too long.

"For the record, I'm really happy for you two," Jenny said softly, and to Blair's surprise, she sounded genuine.

"You mean that," Blair stated. "I'm not sure why you do, but thank you."

"He's less lost when he has you. And Chuck Bass lost is not a good thing," Jenny said like she knew what she was talking about, which Blair had to admit—she did. Lost Chuck Bass was who'd assaulted her last year.

"He's better now," Blair said, unable to stop herself from defending the man she loved.

"I know he is. And that's partially—if not completely—thanks to you."

"Well, we'll see what happens," Blair said, her voice hardening as she remembered how he'd still been unable to tell her how he really felt. "We're not together yet."

"Who's not together yet?" Erik's disembodied voice asked from ahead of them. "Is that you, Blair?"

"Yes, it's me and Jenny. And who else is  _not_ together yet?"' she grumbled.

"Hell's really frozen over now," Erik said with faux surprise, as he walked into the tiny circle of dim light. "I never thought I'd see the day you and Little J would have a civil conversation."

"A brief— _very_ brief—detour, I guarantee you," Blair scoffed. "But Jenny was offering her congratulations on Bass and I."

"I wasn't aware that there  _was_ an official Bass and Waldorf merger yet," Erik teased. "At least one worth congratulating."

"Oh there will be," Blair said darkly. Chuck wasn't going to be permitted to humiliate her in front of the collected company, including both Humphreys  _and_ VanessaAbrams.

"I think we all know that once you set your mind on something, failure isn't an option," Jenny offered.

"My sentiments exactly," Blair echoed. "Now where is everyone? My battery is getting low."

"Mine too," Erik said.

"We're here," Serena announced breathlessly from behind them. "Sorry, we got lost trying to find our room."

"Has anyone seen Vanessa or Nate?" Blair asked, feeling Jenny tense next to her. It would be such a relief, she thought, when she no longer had to deal with that whole situation.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Waldorf," Nate said, as he and Vanessa emerged into the halo of light surrounding her. "Vanessa thought she's seen a flashlight in the pantry, so we went to get it." He flipped a switch, and suddenly there was a whole flood of light, enough to light up almost the whole entryway.

"Thank god," Blair breathed a sigh of relief. "We have one flashlight, at least."

"I think," Nate continued, "that there might be a generator of some sort around here. We just have to get it running."

"A generator?" Blair asked skeptically.

"It's probably in one of the out buildings."

"Maybe we should tackle that in the morning," Dan suggested. "It's too cold and it's snowing way too hard to try to find it."

"Agreed," Nate said. "For the time being, we're going to have to make do with wood."

"I think I saw some wood in the living room," Little J volunteered, "in one of those decorative fireplace accessories."

"It's a place to start," Blair said, rising to her feet. It was hard not to get discouraged, because she highly doubted there would be enough wood in something like that to heat all their rooms individually, and without privacy, there was no way that Chuck was ever going to tell her he loved her.

They stumbled as a group into the living room, the dark Christmas tree looming in the corner. "It was so beautiful," Jenny mourned as they skirted it, walking towards the huge fireplace at the other end of the room.

"It's still beautiful," Nate reassured her. "We just can't see it right now."

"But the lights," she said in a forlorn voice, and Blair was fairly certain she was playing her disappointment up for Nate's benefit, which was a fairly smart thing to do. Nate liked playing the white knight, unlike his best friend. Chuck liked girls who could not only rescue themselves, but could save the whole damn country while they were at it.

"We'll get them back," Nate told her with confidence. "Tomorrow morning, Chuck and I will get the generator up and running."

"What about me?" Dan asked.

"I didn't think you knew anything about generators," Nate said by way of explanation, as he shone the flashlight's bright beam on the ridiculously tiny collection of wood in the ornamental woodbox.

"And Chuck Bass does?"

"Good point," Nate said. "I guess I'm just used to Chuck doing anything he sets his mind to. And that includes generators."

"In my humble opinion," Blair added, "I think the more of you there are, the easier it's going to be. Not that it's going to be easy at all."

"All you have to do is flip a switch, right?" Nate asked.

"You'd better hope that's all you have to do. Bass doesn't exactly have a degree in mechanical engineering from MIT."

"Bass can manage," the aforementioned said as he approached the grouping around the fireplace. "Did you find what you were looking for?" he asked Blair.

"We found some wood," Blair said, and she hated the uncertainty in her tone. She was used to commanding armies, but it had always been in situations she was familiar with. This particular scenario was completely out of her comfort zone, and as she looked back down at the meager selection of what could only be called sticks, Blair realized she had no idea what to do.

"That's not going to be enough to keep us warm," Nate said, saying what everyone had realized by this point.

"I'm sure there's more wood somewhere," Blair said.

"Yeah. Outside," Serena retorted sarcastically. "And I really doubt that anyone's going out there to get it."

"Surely there's something we can do for tonight," Dan said.

Blair hated the way she didn't have an answer. The very worst feeling, she decided, was helplessness; it wasn't something she'd spent much time experiencing, but even now, she was extraordinarily frustrated at how unable she was to solve the problems facing them.

"There's not even any point in dividing this up," Chuck said logically. "If we did that, giving each of us some for our rooms, we'd end up with about ten minutes of heat."

"So what are we going to do, man?" Nate asked. "Are we really going to have to go outside and find wood?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Archibald. There's a blizzard outside. We're just going to have to . . .consolidate our location, and hope this supply lasts the night."

"Explain what you mean," Blair snapped, a horrible suspicion of what Chuck meant coalescing in her mind.

"We'll all have to sleep together."

Shocked silence descended over the group. "Ew," Serena finally said. "I'm not  _touching_ you, Chuck. I can't believe you'd even. . ."

"That's not what I meant," he barked. "You  _know_ what I meant. We'll all have to sleep down here, so we can share the wood."

"So that means we're going to be all sleeping in here. Together," Serena said slowly, as if she didn't quite understand.

"Chuck and I get the couch," Blair announced before anyone could even  _consider_ claiming it before she did.

"Why do you get the couch?" Serena asked, turning towards her best friend. "We should discuss this first."

Blair folded her arms over her chest and glared. Now that the plan was decided on, there was no way she was giving up her tactical advantage—or the comfort of the couch. "This is Chuck's house. Therefore he gets the couch. And since I'm with him, I get to share it." Her expression dared anyone to argue with the fact that she and Bass weren't technically "together" just yet, which was something she herself had pointed out only minutes before.

"It's not a very large couch," Jenny said, eyeing it skeptically. "How exactly are you going to share it?"

"That's for us to figure out," Blair snapped. "As for you, you can go find a lonely corner somewhere. . ."

"Well, if you get the couch," Serena said, with an antagonistic flip of her blond hair, "then Dan and I get the loveseat."

"I'm not even going to ask how you're going to fit on that. I think you're taller than the loveseat is long," Erik said with a giggle.

"You're going to be on the floor. So laugh it up, Erik." Serena's arms crossed, mimicking Blair's almost perfectly and her lips turned down in a pout. Blair wanted to rub in that they had the couch, but she decided there would be time enough for that later.

"What about us?" Nate asked. "I'm not sleeping on the floor. Neither is Vanessa."

"Looks like there's a chair or two left," Blair said with a haughty look as she walked towards the couch and sat on it, as if possession was nine tenths of the law—which it was when it came to Blair Waldorf.

"There was an air mattress or two up in the attic," Dan volunteered. "I saw them when I was finding the Christmas decorations."

"It'll be like one big sleepover," Blair said sarcastically. "Sounds super fun."

"Says the girl who hosts one  _every_ year," Nate said.

"That's a soiree!" Blair retorted.

"What I'm most concerned about," Vanessa interjected, "is if  _some_ people can keep their hands to themselves. You know, while we're all in the  _same_ room." She shot significant glances at Serena and Dan and then at Blair and Chuck.

"What is that supposed to mean, Abrams? Are you saying that Chuck and I would have  _sex_ while you were all in the same room?" Blair couldn't even believe that Vanessa would _dare_ to accuse her of being such a pervert. Chuck was, maybe, but she would  _never_ permit him to touch her that way if everyone was present. Vanessa, she decided, couldn't be dismissed quickly enough for her peace of mind.

"We'll make sure to keep it down," Chuck responded smoothly, walking over to where Blair sat on the sofa and dropping a kiss on her cheek. "Right, lover?"

Blair pushed him away, frowning. "We'll do nothing of the sort. Don't worry, I would  _never_ entertain the idea of doing that," she told Vanessa. "Chuck might be perverted, but he hasn't totally subverted me yet."

"It's only a matter of time," Chuck reassured Blair and the assembled group.

"Let's go look for those air mattresses," Nate said to Dan. "I've got the flashlight."

"Serena. Jenny. Let's go look for some blankets and pillows. We'll have to make the best of it," Blair sighed, resigned to an evening that was the total opposite of what she'd planned on. Her long night of romantic sex on the huge fluffy bed had given way to a night of sharing a hard, narrow couch with Chuck while  _six_ other people were mere feet away.

"I'll come help you," Vanessa offered, even though Blair had very specifically not extended the order to her.

"Fine," Blair said. "I'm tired. We all need to get some sleep and pray that when we wake up the electricity's magically back on."

"I wouldn't count on that, Blair," Chuck said with resignation. "My contact at the power company said forty eight hours at the earliest."

"That's  _two_ days," Blair bit off, appalled at the way this whole vacation had turned out. "That's . . . _unacceptable_."

"I know," he said, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm sorry."

He sounded so genuinely apologetic that Blair couldn't help but melt a little against him. "It's alright. Really. As long as the power's back on by Christmas Eve. We'll manage until then." Actually, it wasn't anything close to alright, but there was nothing anyone could do, so Blair decided she'd just have to grin and bear it. And do everything in her not inconsiderable power to sweeten her pot with a confession of love from a certain future billionaire.

"I told them that there was a huge reward if they could manage to restore our power by Christmas," Chuck reassured her.

"We'll be fine," Blair said, wishing that she felt as confident as her voice sounded. If the power didn't come on in two days, she didn't think they'd manage very well at all. If the boys couldn't get the generator working, that is. "You'll help Nate and Dan with the generator, tomorrow, right?" she asked hopefully.

"I'll try my best, Blair, but I'm not going to make any promises. We don't even know there  _is_ a generator. This isn't exactly the Van der Bilt compound. Nate just assumes that there's one, but there might not be."

"If there is one," Blair said, looking Chuck straight in the eyes, "and there  _better_ be, you  _will_  get it working."

"I'm Chuck Bass, aren't I?" he reassured her arrogantly. "Now go direct your minions. Who knows what they'll get up to without your supervision."

"We'll be back down soon," Blair told him, brushing a kiss across his cheek. "Don't get too comfortable on our couch without me."

* * *

Three hours later, Blair was staring up at the ceiling, wide awake, ruing her words. There was no  _hope_ of this couch ever being comfortable. It was hard as a rock, and she'd been shoved quite unceremoniously into the widening crack between the cushion and the stone-like back by a sleeping Chuck. They'd shared beds before, but they had always been king-sized, with big fluffy pillows and mountains of Egyptian cotton bedding. This was not the same thing at all.

Blair huffed, and tried turning over, only to find that Chuck's arm was blocking the way. "Bass," she hissed, " _move_."

But Chuck was asleep— _sound_ asleep—and from all the years of knowing him, Blair knew that there was no waking him up now.

Another round of snoring erupted from her left, and Blair briefly toyed with the idea of screaming and waking the entire fucking room up. Because of the way that Chuck had her trapped on the couch, she couldn't turn her head and see exactly who it was who was snoring intermittently, but she was fairly certain it was the male Humphrey. She'd had countless sleepovers with S, and later, when she was older, with Nate. There was no way either of them snored. And as for Little J, well. . .Blair was certain that sounds of that decibel couldn't possibly come from a girl of her size.

Blair took a deep breath and tried to calm down by telling herself that in a few hours, it would be daylight, and the boys could go to work finding the generator and cutting up enough wood so that she'd never have to share this couch with the Motherchucker ever again. She shut her eyes, and imagined herself back in the wide, comfortable bed upstairs. . .nestled close, but not  _too_ close to Bass.

As she tried to lull herself to sleep, Blair realized that this was the very first moment she'd been "alone" since they'd left, and with the quiet, the thoughts she'd been trying so hard to avoid came rushing in.

Dorota had always told her to imagine what she wanted most and that envisioning it in her own mind would help her achieve it. Blair had always used this technique for things like the new Laboutin peeptoes, or a Chanel suit or a Tiffany's bauble she'd set her mind on having. With a pang of something like regret, Blair remembered how she'd plotted and planned and schemed to acquire Nathaniel Archibald, only to discover that he was the easiest thing in the world to obtain. And something, as Chuck would say, that easy couldn't possibly be something worth having. She'd heard him say it so many times in relation to his many temporary conquests, but Blair had never realized just how well they described her own situation with her ex.

At the time, the euphoria of finally securing the golden prince of their year had masked the disappointment she'd felt that it had all been so  _easy_. But now, looking back, Blair could see the thread of dissatisfaction that she'd had with Nate. He'd been like a puppet—her puppet. Easy to control, but in the end, not very fun to play with.

Bass, on the other hand, Blair thought with possessive satisfaction, was a  _real_ prize. Impossible to win, and just as conniving as herself; catching him would be an incredible achievement. She couldn't deny that part of the cache of hearing Chuck Bass say the three words, eight letters to her was the fact that he'd never once said them to a woman before her, and that he likely never would again.

Temporarily forgetting how mad she was at him, Blair snuggled closer to him, her insides trembling at the way he felt pressed against her, even in slumber. Blair sometimes felt a sense of ticking fate about them, like she could hear the great grandfather clock in the hall passing the hours, then the minutes, and then the final seconds until their inevitable joining.

And then she heard it. Faintly at first, so faintly, that Blair thought she must have imagined the words, or somehow construed Humphrey's snoring into something more palatable. But then she heard it again, the faint vibration in Chuck's chest as he murmured the words confirming that it  _was_ him, and not just her overactive imagination.

" _Blair_ ," he exhaled, and she knew that he was dreaming, and that the dream was about her. She listened closer, trying to situate her head so that she was as close as possible to the source. If Dan's snoring prevented her from hearing the long-awaited confession then she would never forgive him. It didn't even matter really that he said it in his sleep—he just had to say it, and then she would know, without a single question, that this was real.

" _Want you,"_ he said now, shifting so that he could fit around her more completely. " _Come over here now. . .yeah, just like that, lover. Don't care. . .so what if it's hot?"_ Chuck continued, and Blair knew he was conversing with Dream Blair in his head. At the last word, she froze.  _Hot_. . .Blair wondered if—no _,_ she told herself, there was  _no_ way he was dreaming about Tuscany. That was her crutch, and after all, when she'd told him about it just this morning, he'd never said a word about having the same kind of dream.

" _Hot. . . smells nice. Like basil. Warmed in the sun."_

Blair felt as if something inside her that she'd always kept apart, held frozen and inert behind layers and walls and locks without keys was being released. It was undeniable now; she knew he was dreaming about Tuscany.

" _Blair . . .please. Come here. Don't be mad—no, you know I want you. No clothes."_ Even in his sleep, Chuck could set her blood on fire, and Blair took a deep breath at his low, lecherous chuckle that she pretended to hate, but secretly she loved.

_Say it_ , she thought,  _say it the way you say it when we're in my dreams._ But he didn't, and after what felt like hours of holding her breath and more murmured protestations, it appeared that Dream Blair was playing hard to get, and then finally, Chuck grew quiet again, the dream obviously over.

Blair tried to pass off her disappointment as silly, but the ache of it settled underneath her breastbone, hard and real, like a particularly bad case of heartburn. But even if he hadn't said in the dream, he'd still  _had_ the dream, she told herself, and maybe it wasn't coincidence that he was having it the night after she'd told him about her own.

She'd ask S what she thought in the morning, Blair decided as she leaned back, trying to find some kind of comfortable position to lie in. It had to mean something when they were both having the exact same dream.  _Visualize_ , Dorota's voice echoed in her head,  _just visualize what you want, and it's yours_. All she had to do was get Chuck to dream the exact same Tuscany dream that she'd had—confession of love and all.

And so Blair constructed a new mental scene (Chuck Bass on one knee, professing his eternal, undying love for her), and it wasn't until she felt satisfied with all the particulars—rose petals and bouquets of pink peonies and her favorite champagne and a ring from Tiffany's—did Blair finally feel herself drifting off to sleep.

* * *

Chuck woke up to the sun shining directly in his eyes, the scent of basil and earth in the air, and his arms full of woman.

His head wasn't pounding or fuzzy, his vision was surprisingly clear, and he realized that he wasn't hungover; he'd fallen asleep without any of his normal "sleep aids" then, and yet there was a girl . . .he could feel her around him, her curves fitting into his so perfectly it was as if she'd been made for him and only him.

It was only when she shifted, mumbling in her sleep, that Chuck realized that he was holding Blair Cornelia Waldorf, and that the sun, so unnaturally bright, wasn't the New York sun—he was in Italy and he was with  _the_ girl. The only girl who would ever matter.

He knew the second she woke up because she tensed, nearly jumping out of her skin. "Chuck," she exclaimed, her voice still sleepy even though she struggled to move out the range of his touch. "What time is it? Did we miss dinner?"

It was only then that he remembered; they'd fallen asleep after spending most of the afternoon in bed doing everything  _but_ napping. He'd taken her wine tasting and she'd gotten tipsy sampling the Chianti, taking full advantage of her flirtatious inebriation.

"Who cares," he mumbled lazily, tightening her grip around her shoulders. "If we did, I'll just tell Signora Contadino that we need dinner in bed. Because I'm not leaving—and neither are you."

"Chuck," Blair whined, struggling harder now as he stroked her soft, smooth skin with his fingertips, "I'm serious. They're going to think we're the laziest people on earth."

"We are," he couldn't help smirking at her. "And I fail to see how this is a judgment on us. We're young and rich and . . ." His voice trailed off, and she tensed again, every muscle in her arm going rigid, and she knew what he'd been about to say.

Been about to say, but couldn't really say.

Blair yanked hard at her arm, and managed to extricate herself, more because he'd decided that physically restraining her wouldn't help his position, than because she was stronger than he was. "I don't want to hear your stupid explanations," she told him sulkily, a hint of sadness and hurt evident in her tone.

"Blair, don't be mad," he tried reasoning with her, but she was already out of the bed, and her back was to him, a sheet loosely draped around her naked body.

"I didn't mean . . ." he tried again, but he stopped halfway through because there didn't seem to be much point in even  _trying_ when she knew he wasn't going to say it—when she knew he  _couldn't_ say it.

"Don't," she finally snapped into the suddenly uncomfortable silence. "I'm going to get dressed. We'll be late for dinner."

Chuck woke again, still with hair in his mouth and his arms full of Blair—but there was no sun, only a cold, bleak overcast sky. His back hurt, and he felt as if he'd just run a marathon instead of getting a good night's sleep, and that, he knew, was due to the horribly uncomfortable couch they were sharing. Something in the vicinity of his heart hurt too, and he wasn't too stupid to realize that was all the dream's fault.

When Blair had told him about her own dream yesterday, he'd been shocked to discover that he wasn't the only one who dreamt about the Tuscany-that-could-have-been. Except that he had a feeling that their dreams differed in one all-important detail: in hers, he always said the words she was longing to hear, and in his, he could only sit, mute, on the bed, and watch her retreat from him because of his two-sizes-too-small heart.

Maybe it had been foolish to think he could do this; maybe bringing Blair up here had been a fool's errand born of the confidence that he could do anything he put his mind to, because he was Chuck Bass, damnit.

But he'd have to be a lot stupider not to see that his silence was wearing on her, and that every hour that passed without him saying it, every missed opportunity, pushed her a little farther away from his reach.

By the end of this trip, she'd be as unreachable as the stars. She'd never forgive him, and never want to see him again. He'd have lost his chance, and along with it, the only girl he'd ever cared about.

"Blair," he rasped out, trying to shift her into something resembling comfort, but it was impossible. The couch was about ten feet too damn small. "Seriously. I think you might have permanently ruptured one of my discs."

Her eyes fluttered open, and he was blown away, like he was every single time, by the way she gazed up at him from those dark eyes of hers—like the best part of himself was reflected in her gaze, and he was reminded of why he couldn't give up. He had to keep trying to get the words out, to defeat the stupid Bass blood that wouldn't let him experience even a nanosecond of vulnerability.

He'd almost been able to say it last night, after the lights had gone out, and those dark eyes hadn't been staring back at him, reminding him of the control he was relinquishing to her. But then Serena had interrupted and the moment had been lost.

"Morning," he said, brushing a kiss across her cheek. "How did you sleep?"

"Don't ask," she snapped back, her voice completely opposite from her dreamy eyes. "I barely slept at all. This couch. . ."

"Believe me, I know. I think the springs are permanently embedded in my back."

Blair slapped his arm. "You stole most of it!"

"You weren't missing much."

"I don't care," she said, her voice rising. "You  _still_ took all the room."

"Could you  _please_ keep it down," Serena whined from her perch on the loveseat. "Some of us are  _trying_ to sleep."

"I'm having a  _private_ discussion with Bass," Blair hissed.

"Yeah, real private. All of us can hear you," Nate complained from the air mattress he was sharing with Vanessa.

"Well, if you're all awake, then you can get up and figure out what to make for breakfast," Chuck added.

"And how are we supposed to do that?" Jenny asked. "The power's still out."

"Is it?" Blair said, clearly disappointed that the morning hadn't brought an advantageous shift in their predicament, even though Chuck had done his best to soften the blow that the power wasn't going to come back anytime soon.

"I went to the bathroom this morning. And it was definitely still out. I have the bruises to prove it," J confirmed.

"Oh god," Blair said suddenly. "I just realized . . .no hot water."

"No!" Serena shrieked. "I have to take a shower!"

"Then you're going to be taking a cold one," Chuck couldn't help but smirk, even though he was pretty pissed himself about the lack of hot water.

"This sucks ass," S grimaced, burying her head into the pillow. "I don't want to get up now."

"Like you  _ever_ do," Blair retorted, chucking a pillow in the general vicinity of her head. "And it's too damn bad, because you have to get up; we can't waste the daylight. Unless you all want to sleep in here, together, for another night."

Blair's warning convinced the entire room that it was better to get up than stay in "bed" any longer than they already had. The group split up, everyone moving to their rooms, though Chuck heard a few shrieks from down the hallway as he stood in the master bathroom and contemplated his own very cold shower.

"You're actually going to do it?" Blair asked from the doorway. She'd already changed from her pajamas into another pair of jeans, and was busy layering shirts on. "If you get hypothermia, we can't exactly drive you to the hospital."

"I won't get hypothermia," Chuck retorted. "It's not going to be that cold."

There was a particularly loud bellow from down the hallway that sounded suspiciously like Nathaniel. "I bet you Nate thought it wasn't that cold either," Blair said conversationally, as she pinned her hair back into a surprisingly casual ponytail.

"More jeans?" Chuck asked with a raised eyebrow, changing the subject. "I didn't think you even  _owned_ that many pairs of jeans."

She shrugged, leaning towards the mirror, flicking an invisible piece of lint off the shoulder of her winter white cashmere sweater. "Dorota packed," she explained, "and I should probably be grateful for that, because I would have brought the kind of thing I usually wear."

"And then you would have been stuck with a dozen Dior dresses in this kind of weather. I suppose you could have always borrowed from S."

"Yeah, because she brought enough clothing for an entire army," Blair snarked. "So, are you going to do it or not?"

Chuck sighed. "I didn't get to wake up in my favorite way, so it's kind of necessary."

"Are you saying that I'm forcing you to take a cold shower?" Blair looked rather satisfied with herself, and Chuck forced back an annoyed retort. It was completely her fault—her fault and the dream's fault. Warm Blair wiggling that deliciously curved body against his made him hard as a rock, and he hadn't been able to do a damn thing about it this morning.

"Yes," he simply said, before closing the door in her face and locking it. Knowing Blair, if he didn't do everything he could to keep her out, she'd sit on the marble bathroom counter and keep a running commentary about all his strangled noises and swear words and painful expressions.

Turning back towards the shower, he flipped the water on and grimaced as he quickly shed his pajamas. He'd done a lot of painful things in his life, but he had a feeling this was about to be one of the very worst.

**What's this? It looks like Chuck's the one suffering from a nightmare before Christmas. Will he manage to save the day and save the Sandy Claws—metaphorically, of course—or will his Sally turn her back on him forever?**


	9. Chapter 9

**Blair Waldorf's all grown up, but she's still got her own Christmas list-and I'm sure we can guess what's on it: a sable, a '54 convertible (light blue), a yacht, the deed to a platinum mine, a duplex (and checks), decorations from Tiffany's, and oh, yes, a ring (I don't mean on the phone).**

**But most importantly of all, Upper East Siders, Blair Waldorf needs her own personal Thomas Edison and a little Christmas miracle called electricity.**

Chuck was still shivering when he came downstairs. He couldn't help the perverse delight he took in the fact that Humphrey's nose was still blue with cold, and that Nate's lips were clamped together, as if someone had seriously pissed him off.

But Chuck knew his best friend well enough to know that the "someone" was actually a "something." Nate wasn't really awake until he'd taken a long, punishingly hot shower, and if Chuck's thirty second experience had been anything like Nate's, then that definitely hadn't happened.

"I'm starving," Nate said sourly, glancing around the empty kitchen. "What are we eating? Where'd the girls go?"

"They went to scour the house for candles and flashlights and batteries. Serena told me to find a can."

"A can?" Nate nearly growled.

"I'm assuming," Chuck said smoothly, "that what my dear sister meant was that we needed to find a can of something from the pantry. To eat."

Even Dan Humphrey, who was from that hideous Brooklyn hovel, looked appalled at this.

"A cold shower—and don't even try to tell me that it wasn't cold; I think my balls almost froze off—and now  _this_ ," Nate whined. "I'm not gonna lie, man, this is the worst Christmas ever."

"It's not Christmas, yet," Chuck said between gritted teeth, as he made his way over to the pantry door. If Nate, who actually liked things like camping and  _contact sports_ , thought this was the worst Christmas ever, how could Blair Waldorf not feel the same way? And if she really thought it was the worst Christmas, then there was even less chance she'd be patient and wait for him to be able to say the words out loud that she deserved to hear.

"Chuck, it's two days away. Do you really think you can get the power back on, and staff and supplies up here in time for Christmas Eve? Doesn't matter that you're Chuck Bass... it can't be done. You're not more powerful than the weather."

"It'll be fine. I'm not worried," Chuck insisted, as Dan started rummaging through the pantry for something to eat. "After all, all we have to do is get the generator started, right? That shouldn't be so tough."

"I don't know, man, it took the staff at the Vanderbilt house hours to get the generator working one time."

"Positive thinking, Nathaniel," Chuck snapped. "It's going to work."

"Hey look, I found a can of sweet potatoes," Humphrey said, sticking his head outside of the pantry.

Chuck looked at the bright orange wrapper and nearly shuddered. "I'm not eating that."

"Well it's that or canned peas. Or look. Spaghetti O's."

"Do they have any of those raviolis?" Nate asked hopefully.

"Dude, this is not a restaurant. You can't just  _order_ something. And for the record, those are disgusting."

"I'm serious. They're better than those nasty looking sweet potatoes."

"So basically," Chuck said, attempting and failing to keep his temper, "what you're saying is that we're eating the best of the worst."

"Exactly," Dan said, emerging from the pantry with two cans of Spaghetti O's and a can of Chef Boyardee raviolis. "Now all we need is a can opener. Look in the drawers. I'm sure they have one somewhere."

Chuck and Nate started opening drawers at random, riffling through the contents, but it was Dan who ended up finding the can opener—only after Nate had been through that particular drawer twice and hadn't recognized the item in question. "Seriously? You don't know what a can opener looks like?" Dan asked Nate, who'd just shrugged. He'd never used one in his life—there'd never been a need before today.

"You're both pathetic," Humphrey decided as he opened all three of their cans when Chuck had tried and failed to work the can opener.

"This better not give me food poisoning," Chuck said, eyeing the contents of the can that Dan set in front of him. "If the microwave worked, at least we could kill off some of the germs."

"Another motivation to get the generator working. Hot water and germless Spaghetti O's," Dan inserted.

"You're just jealous that I got the raviolis," Nate gloated as he shoveled the contents of his can into his mouth at an alarming rate.

"What do you think the girls ate?" Dan asked through a mouthful of Spaghetti O's.

"Hell would freeze over before Blair Waldorf would ever eat Chef Boyardee," Chuck pronounced, deciding that there might be some form of amusement in this whole situation. "I bet you she skipped breakfast, talking shit about how I'm going to get the generator working."

"You haven't actually dated yet, but you've already got a head start on understanding what you're in for," Nate pronounced darkly.

"Only because I had to watch you roll your eyes for  _years_. I'll never understand why you dated her if you didn't even like her."

"I  _liked_ her. Just not as much as you did, apparently."

Dan looked faintly alarmed, as if Chuck and Nate were going to re-enact their disagreement of last year—when the truth about Blair and Chuck had hit Gossip Girl, and there'd been a rumble in the St. Jude's courtyard.

"Don't worry, Humphrey," Chuck drawled, throwing his empty can in the trash, "we Basses are classy and don't brawl unless provoked."

Nate just shrugged. "He cares about Blair more than I ever did, so I'm not exactly going to begrudge him."

The trio moved into the foyer, where they pulled on boots and coats, and wrapped scarves around their necks. "We're going outside to find the generator," Nate yelled as they exited the house, only to freeze—and not literally—on the doorstep.

"Holy shit," Nate said, as they stared out onto the driveway, which they'd shoveled only thirty six hours before. Their tracks, and the tracks of the limo, were completely gone, obliterated in the snowfall from yesterday and the night before, and there was maybe two feet  _more_ of snow.

"Fuck," Chuck said savagely "This just got worse."

"It could get worse?" Dan asked.

"I didn't think so either, but it did. Blair can't see this," Nate said.

"No fucking kidding," Chuck snapped as they began to wade through the thigh-deep snow on the driveway. "Though I think she might be slightly less pissed if the generator was working when she realizes how screwed we are."

"The keyword in that phrase is 'slightly,'" Nate said. "Now where are we going, exactly?"

"There's a garage, and some sheds, around the back, I think. I was going to try there first," Chuck said.

"It better be closer than it looks," Dan grumbled under his breath, but without the constant street and pedestrian traffic of the New York streets, his words echoed clearly in the snow covered landscape.

"I'm not going to apologize that my property isn't the size of that broom closet you call a loft," Chuck snapped.

"Seriously, guys. Chuck. Dan," Nate huffed, as they marched through the hip deep snow, "this is going to be hard enough as it is without you two at each other's throats constantly. We need to at least try to work as a team."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "I think you picked up the elder Humphrey's kumabaya, let's braid each other's hair, and share the peace pipe crap through osmosis while you were living there, Archibald."

"Chuck," Nate repeated warningly, but Dan was already fighting back, censorious judgment rife in his tone. "You think you're so witty, Bass. Clever and charming. But nobody likes you."

"Wrong," Chuck said contemptuously. "I know at least one person who likes me a whole hell of a lot."

"Blair?" Dan scoffed. "Yeah, how long is that going to last once you break her heart again like we all know you will?"

"Supportive, Humphrey," Nate hissed, as he blocked Chuck from charging, hampered by the snow, in Dan's direction. "I thought we agreed we'd be  _supportive_  of Bass and Waldorf and their decision to merge assets."

"Well that was before he decided to insult me."

"Chuck is Chuck. That's just what he does. Don't take him seriously," Nate sighed.

Chuck started to argue about this—a  _lot_ of people took him very seriously. He was Chuck fucking Bass, after all, but Nate held up his hand and gave him the look that warned him he was treading on really thin ice.

"Fine," Chuck said coldly. "I can be civil, if Humphrey over here can learn to behave more like a gentleman and less like a Neanderthal."

Nate shook his head, clearly despairing of team cooperation, though Dan must have decided it wasn't worth it to continue arguing because he wisely shut up and didn't say anything in response.

They finally made it around the corner of the house, and the large garage came into view.

"There, that wasn't too bad," Nate said in an attempt to stay upbeat and positive, though his legs were already getting tired. Never mind that he was cold and still hungry and having to play referee for his two best friends.

"Speak for yourself. I'm cold as fuck," Chuck growled. "There won't be any heat in the garage but at least I won't be covered in snow."

"Anything to get out of this damn snow," Dan surprisingly agreed. It appeared that they'd stumbled on—or  _through_ —the one single thing that Humphrey and Bass could agree on.

Another five minutes and Chuck was pulling the door open, stomping off his boots and brushing off his coat and his jeans. "God, it's freezing," he complained again. "I'm trying to remember why I thought this was such a good idea."

"Weren't you originally going to come up here with just Blair?" Dan asked almost hesitantly, as if he was afraid Chuck would cut him down again.

Chuck nodded. "As annoyed as I was about it at the time, I'm kind of grateful that she insisted everyone accompany us. If we'd been stuck up here alone . . ." He trailed off.

"They'd be calling the coroner to remove your body," Dan finished. "You'd never have made it out of here alive."

"Nope. Blair . . .well. . .we all know Blair," Nate said, because really, no explanation was necessary. Blair was Blair; as much as he liked her, and  _had_ loved her, he was honestly kind of glad that she was Chuck's problem now. Of course, admitting that out loud would be signing his own death warrant.

"So," Nate said, shutting the door behind them, and enclosing them in the semi-darkness of the musty, dank garage, "what exactly are we looking for? Has anyone ever seen a generator before?"

"I thought you had," Dan said, "you mentioned one at the Vanderbilt estate."

"Of course Nate didn't  _see_ that one," Chuck said, and both Nate and Dan would have to be deaf not to hear that the testy edge was back in his voice. Dan had begun to figure out that Chuck got pissy whenever something went wrong, or anyone mentioned him letting Blair down—it was easy to surmise that the Bass heir's bad mood was directly related to his fear that she'd leave him. And since Dan knew exactly how it felt to have a girl hold your heart in her hands, and be able to obliterate it to bits whenever she got the fancy, he began to feel a little sorry for Chuck. Before this moment, he'd never been entirely sure if Chuck really did love Blair, but now it was unmistakable, and he felt a moment's worth of guilty regret for stopping her from telling him the truth all those months ago.

"Well, what are we going to do then?" Dan asked, and to his surprise, both Chuck and Nate looked at him in astonishment. "What, you thought  _I_ would know what a generator looked like? Seriously?"

"You  _are_ from Brooklyn, and you live in a loft," Nate said, as if these were pre-requisites for knowing everything about generators.

"I also read Faulkner and listen to indie rock. Sorry, guys, but I know just about as much as you do."

"Which is nothing, then," Chuck snapped.

"We're just going to have to figure it out. I mean, it should look pretty distinctive right? Like a box. . .that makes electricity?"

"Right," Dan said, trying to help Nate stay positive.

"Great," Chuck said sarcastically.

"Let's split up and look through here, see if we can find anything promising. Even if we find some more flashlights, that would be worth the hike out here," Nate said.

"I'm sorry, but no. You know Blair Waldorf. Once her mind's set on something, there's very little you can do to change her mind. Flashlights aren't going to prevent her from relegating me to the couch tonight. We need a working generator."

Nate sighed. "Good point. She can be a little . . ."

"Difficult?" Dan offered hesitantly.

"That's an understatement," Chuck agreed.

"It's alright man, we'll help you out. We'll find it. Don't worry," Nate said.

Dan turned towards one side of the garage, which was filled with a variety of shapeless blobs covered in tarps. "Here, bring the flashlight over here. Maybe it's under one of these," he said encouragingly. He didn't intend to be responsible again when the Waldorf-Bass merger fell apart.

Nate walked over with the flashlight, shining it on each of the tarps in turn. "I guess," he shrugged. "Seems a good enough place to start."

Chuck appeared to be fine with delegating the work to Dan and Nate, and he watched, impassive, with his arms folded across his chest, as Dan struggled to pull the tarps off. The first three were boxes of varying heights and sizes, and they were full of tools, but not a generator. Dan could nearly feel the weight of Chuck's frustration as each one wasn't what they were looking for.

They hit pay dirt under the sixth tarp. Underneath the grimy, damp blue plastic tarp was a black box-like contraption with open sides and the words "Briggs and Straton Professional 30338 10,000 Watt Electric Start Generator" written on the main section in big, bold red letters.

"Thank god," Chuck breathed out. "Now we just have to figure out how the hell to work it."

"Yeah, because that's going to be so easy," Nate said sarcastically. "We didn't even know what it was supposed to look like."

"Don't be negative, Archibald. They'll be a manual around here somewhere, I'm sure." But they searched for another hour, through every part of the garage, turning over every tarp, and pawing through every drawer, and no manual appeared.

"We're just going to have to figure it out, I guess," Dan finally said.

"Where do you even begin?" Chuck asked, leaning closer to the generator. "What do you think, Archibald?"

"Well, it looks like there's a tank of some sort. I think we have to put gas in it."

"Wouldn't they have gas in it already?" Dan asked, joining the other two as they leaned over the object in question. "It seems kind of foolish to have a generator around without any gas in it."

"You have to remember, this place hasn't been used in years. I really doubt they would just leave gas in here indefinitely. That wouldn't really be safe, would it?" Chuck theorized.

"Gas makes explosions, so probably not," Nate agreed.

"We should check, just in case," Dan added.

"Be my guest," Chuck insisted slyly, gesturing at the cap on the tank. "I'm not touching that. It's really dirty."

"Yeah, me either. Mostly because I'm not exactly eager to get back into the shower from hell."

"You mean the shower from the arctic," Chuck joked. "Though I suppose if we get this damn thing working, that means a hot shower."

"That's motivation enough for me," Dan said, reaching out and unscrewing the lid. He took a step closer, and tried peering down into the dark tank. "Here, flash some light down there. I can't see anything."

Nate tried shining the light closer, but Dan insisted that he still couldn't see. Finally, Chuck made an exasperated sound, and pushed Dan out of the way, attempting to see for himself, but after several unsuccessful attempts, he gave a frustrated sigh.

"There's no way you can even  _tell_ what's in there," Chuck grimaced. "And it smells disgusting."

"I think that's the gas," Dan said.

"Exactly. It's gas. If I want to get high, I'll use something that doesn't smell like a fucking sewer."

"We need another plan," Nate said. "Any ideas?"

"Well, this one time I was drinking on the roof of Victrola, and I had this bottle of really amazing Scotch . . ." Chuck began but Dan interrupted him.

"I fail to see how this solves our problem."

Chuck glared. "If you would shut the fuck up, you'd see. Now, like I was saying. I was on the roof at Victrola, drinking out of a bottle. And it was too dark to see so I held it close to my ear, and moved it around."

"Actually, that's kind of a brilliant idea," Nate said, as Dan shot him a dirty look. "I hate to say it, but it is."

"Once in a while, I come up with one of those," Chuck snapped sarcastically.

"Brilliant  _and_ modest," Dan interjected. "So what, all we have to do is move the generator and see if we can hear the gas sloshing in the tank?"

"That's the idea," Nate said, moving to the other end of the generator. "Though it would be a lot easier if it had wheels. Okay, on three. One. . .two. . .three." They lifted the generator as they leaned over and tried to hear anything moving inside the tank. Except there was nothing.

With a groan, they set the generator back on the ground, and Chuck thought that right now, he'd rather be just about anywhere else. Why hadn't he suggested to Blair that they go back to Tuscany? There weren't any blizzards in Tuscany.

Oh, right. Because she would have thrown something at his head for even daring to suggest they travel back to the locale where he'd abandoned her in the first place. He'd chosen this lodge because it was new to the family, and had felt, at the time anyway, like the perfect place to make the fresh start he was convinced they needed.

"Okay, so no gas. What are we going to do now?" Dan asked.

"Man, I don't know," Nate said, and for the first time in the entire expedition, he sounded truly defeated. "I don't suppose they kept any gas around here."

Nate could give up all he wanted to because, Chuck thought viciously, he was pseudo-dating the Brooklyn twins and they could care less about cold showers and no staff and eating Chef Boyardee out of cans. Nate wasn't dating—or  _trying_ —to date Blair Waldorf, the Queen of the Upper East Side. If he wanted Blair, he was going to have to do something ( _anything_ ) to make this whole Christmas trip less of an utter disaster.

"Of course they did," Chuck said with the reckless confidence of someone who's just realized they have nothing left to lose. "They did and we're going to find it."

"Right," Nate said, but he sounded less than convinced.

Chuck could feel the dream he'd had that morning closing around him, and he had to take a deep breath, exhaling slowly, to push the vision of Blair turning her back on him from his mind. "I'm being serious," he said, and for the first time that morning, he sounded it. "I have to make this work.  _We_ have to make this work, because as much as it kills me to say this, there's no way in hell I'll be able to manage this on my own."

"The great Chuck Bass asking for help?" Nate asked, not unkindly, his eyebrow raised in question.

Chuck sighed and deciding to hell with his Ralph Lauren pants, he sat down on the dirty concrete floor of the garage. "This doesn't leave here, but . . ."

"But. . .?" Nate prompted when Chuck didn't immediately finish the thought.

"I'm not sure I can do this." Nate decided that this was serious enough it merited joining Chuck on the floor, and so he sat down next to Dan, their backs to the garage wall.

"Tell Blair how you feel? You know she loves you, too, right? So it's not like you have to worry about her saying it back. She will, I know she will."

Chuck shrugged. "It's not that easy, or that simple."

"It could be," Dan spoke up.

Nate froze, as if he was expecting Chuck to go ballistic on Dan's ass, but Chuck seemed actually genuinely interested in what Dan thought. "What I mean," Dan continued, "is that you're the one making it complicated. Just make it easy. You love her; she loves you."

"What. . ." Chuck paused and cleared his throat before continuing. "But what if she deserves better?"

"Do anyone of us ever deserve the girls who love us? I'm pretty sure I don't deserve Serena—but the catch is that it isn't  _us_ who get to make that decision. It's them. Besides, I'm pretty sure that Blair wouldn't ever love anyone she was convinced wasn't worthy of her."

"Dan's got a good point there," Nate agreed. "Blair would never,  _ever_ settle for anyone. If she wants you—and she does—then it doesn't much matter what you think she deserves."

Chuck said nothing for a moment, then as if the last two minutes hadn't happened, the patronizing mask settled back over his features. "We'll see," he simply said. "Now, let's go find some gas."

Nate shook his head as Chuck got to his feet and began methodically searching through the garage. He wanted to think that Chuck would do the right thing by Blair—that he'd brought her here for that express purpose—but he was getting a bad feeling that Chuck was developing cold feet. And that was going to create an issue that he wasn't prepared and didn't want to deal with. Though Nate knew the general opinion was that he was lacking in the brain department, he was smart enough to know when he'd done everything he could, and when you needed to bring in more firepower. When they got back to the house, he'd corner Erik and tell him that it was time he talked some sense into Chuck before he did something—or  _didn't_ do something—that he'd regret.

"Look. Over here," Chuck called from the dark opposite corner of the garage. "There's a lawn mower. And it's got some gas in the tank."

"It's a miracle," Dan called out, almost managing to hold back in the facetious edge to his voice. "Right on par with Jesus turning water into wine."

"Shut it Humphrey, or I'll break your legs and even Jesus won't be able to heal you," Chuck snapped in a businesslike, focused tone. It was the tone of a Chuck Bass on a quest for something; a Chuck Bass who wouldn't take no for an answer. Nate thought it was about time that this particular version of Chuck Bass arrived at the scene. This Chuck would never let Blair slip away. Maybe Erik wouldn't have to force feed him sense after all.

No. He'd still have to. From all the years being Chuck's best friend, Nate had learned that certainties were only certainties when they were enforced from start to finish. He'd use Erik to make sure that nothing stopped the inevitable Bass-Waldorf merger.

"Archibald, get your ass over here and help me figure out how to get the gas from this tank to the generator tank."

"You can do that?" Dan asked.

"It's amazing that you manage to wake up in the morning and tie your shoes, Humphrey," Chuck said, but the insult accompanied by a good-natured chuckle that made it clear that victory in the gasoline department had improved his mood considerably.

"We need a tube of some sort," Nate said, approaching the small riding lawn mower that Chuck and Dan were standing next to, the cap to the gas tank unscrewed. "Of course, I'm only theorizing here, but I think that's how we'll do it."

"I think I saw one over in this drawer," Dan said, already moving to where he'd seen it. Chuck's attitude had galvanized them—had convinced them they could actually pull this off and maybe secure both a hot shower and the gratitude of the females.

And to their astonishment, Chuck and Nate and Dan not only managed to do it, coaxing the gas from one tank to the other, but they did it together—Chuck barking orders and when Dan didn't follow them successfully, rolling up his own sleeves and managing to get soaked in a good bit of gas while he was at it. But he didn't even notice. He was too busy trying to pull off the coup of the century.

Nate, watching him and Dan argue over whether the lawn mower tank was empty, decided that it was Chuck's relentless drive that made him such a good leader: he never gave up on himself and therefore nobody else was allowed to give up either.

"That's the last of it," Dan said flatly. "You want to try to get more of it, be my guest, but the last time you interfered you ended up with most of it on your shirt."

"Fine," Chuck ground out. "How much did we get? Enough, you think?"

"The lawn mower tank says it holds five gallons, and it was maybe three quarters full. So take away the gas that Chuck spilled," Nate said, but Chuck interrupted him.

"It wasn't that much. Christ, you'd think it was all over."

"Dude, look at yourself. It  _is_ all over," Dan said with amusement.

Chuck glanced down, and both Nate and Dan knew the moment he realized that he was covered in gas. "Regardless," Nate continued, trying not to laugh at his best friend's outraged expression, "the generator tank is still not quite full. And the instructions on the side say that a full tank lasts six hours at a 'normal capacity.'"

"Six hours? We did all this for  _twelve_ hours of electricity?" Dan asked in dismay.

"You'd be astonished at what you can do in twelve hours," Chuck said with that same reckless confidence. "Of course, I wouldn't expect you to be able to accomplish what I could Humphrey. That takes you what . . .fifteen minutes, maybe?"

Dan looked puzzled, as if he wasn't sure how Chuck had insulted him, but Nate stepped in before he realized. "Twelve hours will be plenty. We can just turn it on when we need it. For meals and showers. We'll have to find firewood for heat."

"Great," Chuck said, as if he was really pleased about this development.

"You do know what that means, right?" Dan asked slowly. Chuck still didn't look as though he understood, so Dan explained. "It means we're going to have to chop firewood."

"And we're going to have to do it today," Nate added. "We already burned what was already in the house last night."

This seemed to deflate Chuck's confidence a bit, but he still tried to look upbeat. "Well, we'll manage. Waldorf's so good at cutting people down to size, maybe she can help."

"You're going to give Blair Waldorf an ax. Really?" Dan asked.

"No," Nate inserted, "we are not going to give Blair an ax. It'll end up in our backs."

"Good point. Still, we managed the generator. Chopping wood can't be too much harder, right?"

Nate rolled his eyes. Sometimes Chuck was a little too. . .naive. Which was an adjective he'd never imagined he'd use in conjunction with his boozing, womanizing best friend.

"Sure, man. But we've got to get cleaned up; Blair's going to. . ."

Chuck waved Nate silent. "Believe me, I know. Blair's going to be appalled. Until I tell her that I brought her electricity. As far as Waldorf's concerned, I'm Benjamin fucking Franklin today."

The trek back to the house was easier than it had been getting out to the garage because it hadn't snowed anymore and they could just use the path they'd forged earlier. But Dan pointed out that the sky had turned a rather ominous dark gray, and that it was likely it would end up snowing more before the day was out.

"We need to get some firewood," was all Chuck would say in response to this. "But I need a shower and to eat something that isn't cold and out of a can first."

"Amen," Dan agreed, and Nate thought the world might have stopped revolving because Humphrey and Bass had just found a point of mutual agreement.

Chuck opened the door to the house and stomping off the excess snow first, walked inside. It was almost as cold inside as it was outside now, and Nate could tell from the way that Chuck's jaw set hard that this both worried and upset him. Nate was pretty sure that they were going to hear all about how insufferable the conditions were.

And as if on cue, Blair's soaring voice echoed through the foyer. "Bass, where the hell have you been?"

She appeared on the top of the curved stairway, dressed in jeans and a sweater, layered with a coat that was buttoned all the way up to her chin. She was wearing gloves, a scarf and had a ridiculous looking fur hat pulled down low over her ears. Personally, Nate thought she looked rather ridiculous, but she was clearly not in the mood to be told that so he kept his mouth shut.

"Darling, good news," Chuck said, sauntering further into the foyer, as if he had no idea he was walking into a minefield—but Chuck knew Blair's moods better than nearly anyone else, so he was definitely aware of the situation. Nate was a little envious at how he'd seemingly mastered the ability to pretend that nothing was wrong. When he'd dated Blair, he'd only been able to cower at her bad moods, and in the end, that had only made the situation worse.

Yet another reason why Chuck and Blair were much better suited than Nate and Blair had ever been.

"Good news?" Blair asked archly, deigning to descend down the staircase to meet him halfway.

"We've got electricity."

"Really?" she asked. "Then why is it still freezing in here?"

"Unfortunately, there only seems to be enough gasoline for us to use the generator sparingly."

"Sparingly?" Blair's voice had taken on the same frosty chill of the air around them, and Dan leaned towards Nate, whispering so she couldn't hear him, "I don't care how pretty she is, I couldn't deal with all that girly evil."

"Don't let Chuck hear you say that," Nate hissed warningly.

"That she's pretty?"

"Either part," Nate clarified as Chuck tried to explain the situation with the generator. "He's convinced it makes you more powerful if you can handle a powerful woman."

"Powerful or just crazy."

"I'm with you on that one," Nate agreed.

"Blair," Chuck was saying patiently, "I know it's frustrating, but it's not as if we have any choice here."

"Well, what about the heat? How are we going to prevent from  _freezing_?"

"Firewood," Chuck said succinctly.

Nate saw a flash of vulnerability and fear as her mask slipped, and clearly Chuck saw it too, because he took another step closer, obviously forgetting about the state of his clothes, because Blair shrieked as the stench of gas hit her.

"Chuck Bass, don't take a single step closer. What the hell were you  _doing_?"

"I told you- we were fixing the generator. I'm going to take a shower. You want to come help me scrub my back?" he asked, smirking at her. "We turned the generator for a little bit-just for you, lover." Nate was rather impressed at how Chuck had managed to neatly turn Blair's arguments around,  _and_ make her think that the electricity was for her benefit and not for his.

Blair's imperious attitude faltered for a half a second before she managed to regain her haughty composure. "I'll consider it," she said, before twisting on her heel and marching off down the hallway.

"Bomb's diffused, boys," Chuck called down the stairway. "It's safe to come up."


	10. Chapter 10

**Spotted: Blair Waldorf and Chuck Bass attempting to wash their dirty, devious hearts clean. Will it work? I sincerely hope not, because peace on earth and goodwill towards men doesn't make for very juicy gossip.**

"You getting in or not?" Chuck asked as he shed layers of clothing.

"You smell like a gas station," Blair retorted with a wrinkled nose. "It's disgusting."

"Thus, why I'm taking a nice, hot shower. Which, by the way, is thanks to the gasoline. The gasoline that's providing this hot water and the heat and hopefully the electricity to the stove so that you and Jenny Humphrey can cook something halfway decent that's not out of a can."

"If you're saying that I should be grateful you smell like that, you're cracked." Blair folded her arms across her chest.

Chuck stepped in the shower, half-moaning as the hot water hit him. "Seriously, Blair, are you joining me or not? Because we can't keep the generator on through the all the stages of your deliberation."

"Fine," she huffed shortly, pulling her sweater over her head. "It's cold," she whined. "There hasn't been actual heat in twenty four hours now."

"All the more reason to join me, lover," Chuck crooned in  _the_ voice—Blair wanted to ignore it, because it promised deviltry and dark deeds, but she'd never been able to.

_The_ voice had lured her into the back of a limo, into giving him her virginity, into spending the evening of her seventeenth birthday with him, into forgiving him  _way_ too many times, into re-christening the limo after his father's wedding, into letting him kiss her when she  _should_  have been with the Count, into the Snowflake Ball bet . . .

She was too busy listing all the offenses that  _the_ voice had made her commit to notice what he was doing, but when she glanced up, her breath caught in her throat and she froze, jeans halfway down her legs. He was staring right at her, the steam on the glass walls of the shower deliberately wiped away, and then she saw it.

A tiny heart, traced in the steam.

Blair let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and let go of the final piece of the fairytale that she'd always thought she needed. Chuck Bass might never be the perfect prince that she'd spent her formative years fantasizing about, but suddenly it didn't matter. She loved him, this imperfect man, and he was hers—completely and totally. He might never be able to actually say the words, but that wasn't his fault. Blair knew he loved her, worshipped her, adored her, would do absolutely anything she asked him to, if only to prove his love and his loyalty.

She'd told Serena only the day before that it didn't matter if he said the words or not, but she hadn't been quite sure that she meant it.

Blair knew then, as their eyes locked, dark meeting dark head-on, two equals bracing for what came next, that she meant it. Sometimes, she decided, tossing her hair, and slowly unclasping her bra, you knew something so absolutely that words weren't necessary anymore.

She'd never truly felt beautiful in her own skin—after all, how could one  _ever_ feel beautiful when their best friend was Serena?—but with Chuck gazing at her like she was the loveliest, sexiest woman he'd ever seen, she believed it.

And there was definitely a swagger in her step as she dropped her cream lace La Perlas and opened the glass shower door.

"Took you long enough," Chuck smirked. "Though I enjoyed the show."

As the water hit her skin and poured down her back, Blair wasn't sure that words could really express the way she suddenly felt. As if she'd finally taken the key he'd been holding out to her and she was able to unlock her heart—unlock all the love that she'd been holding in so tightly—and it had all simply exploded out of her. How could one body hold so _much_?

Glad that there was water running so that maybe he wouldn't notice the tear slipping down her cheek—the very first time she'd ever cried out of sheer, utterly mad happiness—she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him hard, with everything that she couldn't actually say with words.

Neither of them could, but it didn't matter, because they had discovered better ways of communicating.

Because didn't the way his hands worshipped her skin, leaving trails of water in their wake, have their own language?

And the way she kissed him, and pulled him down hard towards her—that didn't need a translation.

He found her already slick, already wanting him more than was probably sane—of course, Blair thought, he probably knew that his voice alone made her hot for him—and like before, he turned her towards the tile wall of the shower. Her fingers slipped on the wet ceramic, as if she could anchor herself before his onslaught.

His hands traced up the slope of her back and he slid inside her. Blair moaned, refusing to censor herself, not even caring if anyone heard her. She was his now—and he was most definitely hers. She was never going to let him run again.

Chuck's groan echoed through the bathroom, and his hands gripped her so hard that Blair thought he was going to leave her covered in bruises. Unlike before, when she'd fussed and complained that he'd marked her, now she only reveled in his act of possession. As if he was telling the world that she belonged to him and him only.

He kept her balanced on a knife-edge of pleasure, wringing out plea after plea that he push her over the edge. When he finally let her go, and he tumbled after her, Blair could only feel the pounding of her blood, the cooling waterfall of water, and Chuck.

Her knees were wobbly as she stood up, suddenly shivering at how cold the water suddenly seemed.

"Damnit," Chuck growled as the temperature went from merely chilly to downright Arctic. "I told them to wait until the shower was off."

Blair normally would have just as upset as he was, but there was a bubbliness in her blood, like the finest champagne—she felt high and utterly, fiercely perfect. Even if she was freezing.

"I don't think you got very clean," she giggled, between her chattering teeth, as she opened the shower door. "But then maybe you didn't want to get clean."

"No," Chuck said, ducking his head under the freezing stream of water. "But I also didn't want to freeze my balls off for the second time today."

"It was worth it," Blair said, wrapping herself in a towel. "At least I thought so."

"Oh, don't get me wrong," Chuck said, following her, his teeth chattering just as hard as hers were, "I thoroughly enjoyed it, and I'd definitely do it again."

"Maybe tonight then." Blair gave him a sleepily suggestive smile. "That is, if you get enough firewood chopped so we don't freeze."

"Damn it, I forgot all about the wood," he grumbled.

"I have a feeling that no one else had such an excellent distraction," Blair said, wrapping her hair in the towel and then sorting through the clothes on the floor, looking for her underwear.

"Naturally. It would be Nate."

"Nate knows what's good for him; he'd never even  _dream_ of interrupting us. Now Dan on the other hand . . ." Blair said, her voice cutting like a laser. In love or not in love, she was still Blair Waldorf. And you didn't interrupt her time with Chuck unless you wanted to suffer. Acutely.

"Actually," Chuck said thoughtfully, toweling off, and heading into the walk-in closet, "the elder Humphrey had some semi-sound pieces of advice earlier. I was rather astonished."

"Unless he was advising you on the best kind of Cabbage Patch doll to buy, I wouldn't listen," Blair retorted snidely.

But when Chuck didn't reply, Blair grew suspicious and headed into the walk-in to make sure he wasn't trying to deflect. "What exactly did Humphrey advise you on, Bass?" Blair asked, her arms crossed across her chest.

"Nothing important," Chuck said distractedly, as he sorted through the clothes in his suitcase. "Now, what's the best sartorial choice for chopping wood? I think I need your expertise, lover." Reaching out to her, he pulled her towards him, and Blair let herself be taken, molded against him. His face buried in her still-damp hair, and the bubbles floating through her suddenly filled with something resembling helium.

"Speaking of Humphrey," Chuck mumbled into her hair, "why do I get the feeling that you're going to interfere with Nathanial and his sudden proclivities for Brooklyn?"

Blair pulled away so she could look into his eyes. "Don't tell me that you actually prefer Vanessa Abrams to Little J."

Chuck released her and pulled on a cashmere sweater. Purple, of course. Blair smiled fondly at him as he tugged on the cuffs. "Of course I don't. Abrams isn't half-bad, but you're right. She's all wrong for him."

"Jenny will manage him properly. Because he does need to be managed." Blair looked up from straightening her own sweater, to glance at Chuck reproachfully. "You know I'm right."

"So that's the way it's going to be then. The Queen B is putting her foot down and insisting that Vanessa be dispatched from whence she came?"

"If only it were that simple," Blair groused. "Dan will judge, of course, and then he'll sway Serena—you know how easily she's convinced—to his side and then it'll be an issue. No. Nate has to decide this for himself. We just need to throw a little . . .temptation his direction."

"And I'm assuming the bait is Little J," Chuck observed as they walked back into the bathroom. Blair took out a brush and began to try to fix her damp, bedraggled hair.

"If I give her the opportunity, I think she can do the rest."

"She's not you, if you know what I mean, but she certainly has potential," Chuck said, running his fingers through his own hair.

"Precisely. I just need the right . . .moment. The situation has to be ideal. I need to consider this some more, but I wanted to make sure you were on board, just in case I needed assistance."

"You know I'm always up for social destruction."

Blair gazed fondly at their combined reflections in the mirror, tilting her head as she admired the image staring back at her. How could she have ever thought that she and Nate were a perfect couple? Contrast, she decided, was definitely overrated. She and Chuck were a perfectly matched pair. Social destruction and all.

"Tomorrow night's Christmas Eve," Chuck said cautiously, and Blair knew he had been waiting for the perfect moment to bring up the potential disaster that was Christmas. "I'm not sure the weather will clear . . ."

"I'm not worried," Blair interrupted him breezily, surprising herself by finding she actually meant it. "We have the generator. Which means, at the very least, a hot shower and a hot meal. We'll manage." She leaned over, fingers trailing over his chest, and brushed a kiss over his cheek. "You have fun with the ax, darling, and be careful. I enjoy all of your appendages, I wouldn't want you to lose any."

* * *

Blair nearly skipped down the main staircase, not even caring that her makeup was mostly gone or that she'd twisted her hair up into a messy bun. She fully intended to sweep into the living room and make sure that everyone knew just what she and Chuck had been doing.

Every bit of shame that she'd felt was gone, swept away by her sudden certainty that she and Chuck were not only for real, they were playing for something a lot more permanent and special than who'd be her escort to the Snowflake Ball.

If she played her cards right, Blair was fairly certain that she and Bass were in this for keeps, but the inevitability was an entirely different feeling than the vague dread she'd felt when she'd contemplated a future with Nate.

"You're finally here," Vanessa said flatly as Blair entered the living room. Jenny was moodily staring outside, contemplating the snowy landscape; Serena was stretched out on the couch, flipping through the December issue of  _Vogue,_ her feet on Erik's lap, and Vanessa herself was hovering over the pile of batteries, flashlights and candles that they had spent the morning unearthing.

"Excellent," Blair said, deciding to ignore Vanessa's slightly hostile tone. Sometimes the most obvious, frontal assault wasn't the best one—Blair knew she'd get her back in the end, and then V would wish she'd never been so passive aggressive. "We need to save some candles for Christmas Eve. And for Christmas Day. If we're going to be up here, with no electricity, then we'll have to do what we can to create a lovely atmosphere. Candlelight will be nice."

"I'm surprised that you've accepted it so easily," Serena observed, absently staring at a page in her magazine.

If it had just been the two of them, Blair would have told her best friend all about her realization in the bathroom, but Vanessa already knew too much. And Little J—she was just plain dangerous. Blair was glad they were graduating, and she could relinquish the Constance crown to Jenny next year because whether she liked it or not, Jenny was a formidable opponent. It wouldn't be a stretch of the imagination to believe that she would try to twist Blair's relationship with Chuck at some point, and Blair was experienced enough with social destruction to know that giving Jenny any ammunition was asking for trouble.

Blair just shrugged. "It is what it is; there's not much that can really be done about it. I've decided to just make the best of the situation."

"And of course, Bass has nothing to do with that," Vanessa inserted slyly, and Blair took a deep breath and counted to ten, imagining the look on the Brooklyn hobo's face when Little J stole her man out from under her.

Serena, however oblivious, caught the undercurrent in the room, and intervened. "Blair, I don't think I've told you just how  _happy_ I am for you two. I know I didn't approve at first-"

"That's for sure," Blair inserted, under her breath—but just loud enough that all the girls heard.

"But," Serena forged on, ignoring Blair's comment, "Chuck's a changed man with you. I never thought I'd see my brother actually act like he has a heart."

"I never thought I'd see the day you called him your brother," Blair laughed.

Serena scrunched her nose and giggled. "Oh, god, I just did, didn't I? I'm glad he wasn't here to hear that. I'd never hear the end of it."

"I'll take it to the grave," Blair said.

"Chuck's not the only changed one," Jenny said, pulling herself out of her emo stupor, "I never thought I'd hear Blair say she'd keep a secret."

"I said it," Blair said sweetly, "that doesn't mean I actually  _will_ keep it."

"Yeah, you forget. Blair here makes Clinton look like a shining beacon of honesty and truth. And with Chuck beside her, I can't imagine the kind of manipulations they'll get up to," Vanessa said snidely.

Blair decided that the other brunette must have figured out that she was on Jenny's side and that any attachment she had with Nate was fleeting. Otherwise, V wouldn't be quite so openly hostile.

"I'm kind of expecting them to take over the world. New York, at least," Erik added loyally, looking up from the book he was reading. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

"And you'd be right," Blair said, smiling indulgently at Erik. "The Upper East Side's just the beginning."

"Oh look," Jenny said, "the boys are going outside to chop wood."

"I didn't hear the front door open," Blair said, walking over to the window, where she could clearly see the trio heading towards one of the outbuildings.

"That's because you were too busy rhapsodizing about how you and Bass were going to conquer the planet," Vanessa muttered darkly.

"Brooklyn's first on the list," Blair hissed, "and we're going to bulldoze it down."

"Girls, girls," Erik said, pushing Serena's feet off his lap and getting to his feet, clearly ready to play referee if needed. "It's nearly Christmas. Do you think we could at least _attempt_ to enact peace on earth?"

"I suppose," Blair sniffed. But the sex she'd just had with Chuck, and the way her body felt lighter than air had her feeling particularly feisty and Vanessa was such a ridiculously easy target. "I could make an attempt."

Vanessa didn't say a word—only gave a sharp nod of agreement. Blair told herself that rolling her eyes wasn't only an appropriate response in this scenario, it was practically saintly. It was also time to set some plans in motion.

"I've decided," Blair announced, with the bravado of someone who's not only used to being followed, but can't comprehend of any alternative, "that since Christmas is likely to arrive without a restoration of electricity and/or connection to the outside world, we're going to have to do our best to cobble together some sort of celebration. Jenny, didn't you say there were more decorations where the ornaments came from?"

Jenny nodded, and Blair continued. "Show me. We need to make it all more. . . _festive_."

There was a distinctive silence that followed Blair's pronouncement.

"Not only that, but you're all bored. You might as well do  _something_ ," Blair snapped. "I know you've read that  _Vogue_ cover to cover more than once, S. And we've found pretty much every single item in the house that could possibly generate light without electricity."

"The decorations are in the attic," Jenny said dubiously. "The boys were carrying them before."

"Well, since they're busy providing us some form of heat, then I suppose we'll just have to manage."

"You're going to go up to the attic?" Jenny asked, as Blair turned to head out of the living room.

Blair turned back sharply, a condescending look on her face. "When you become Queen, Little J, you'll realize that Queens are Queens because we're willing to not only get our hands dirty, but we're willing to do just about anything to further our agenda.  _Capiche_?"

Jenny just nodded mutely, and as they filed out the living room, Blair thought she heard Vanessa chortle quite unattractively.

"That troll," Blair seethed as she and Jenny walked up the staircase. "I don't know how you tolerate her."

"She's not so bad," Jenny said apologetically. She'd been  _trying_ to tell Vanessa to tone it down—that she was going to regret ever crossing the Queen B, but Vanessa had merely laughed off her warnings as if they didn't exist.

Jenny had decided that she'd given her friend—and rival—quite enough warning, and that if Blair had decided to help her steal Vanessa's man, then he was definitely fair game now.

"You do realize the plan right?" Blair asked as Jenny opened the door to the attic stairs.

"Of course. Mistletoe," Jenny said in a bored voice, surprised that Blair even had to ask. Wasn't she the one who was always saying that the only person even as remotely conniving as herself was Jenny? "Once you started going on about the decorations, I knew. Vanessa doesn't understand you at all, so she won't suspect a thing."

"I trust that once the pieces are in place, it won't be hard for you to do your part," Blair said.

Jenny gave her a look as they climbed up the dusty, dank stairs. "I wouldn't worry about it."

"Excellent."

"You don't think this is a little creepy?"

"Me helping you seduce Nate away from Vanessa? It's a trifle twisted, I suppose," Blair observed thoughtfully. "Not as twisted as I've ever been, mind you, but that tramp Gossip Girl would have a field day with it. It's a good thing we're stuck up in godforsaken middle of nowhere. She must be dying with us all gone. She'll have to write about  _Unity_ or maybe even  _Chapin_."

"A sad day, for sure," Jenny said sarcastically. "When Blair Waldorf isn't the number one news story on Gossip Girl."

Jenny pulled open the door to the attic and gestured for Blair to enter. "The attic awaits, your majesty."

"Your sarcasm is both noted and not appreciated," Blair said frostily.

Jenny just shrugged. She'd long since ceased to be afraid of what Blair Waldorf could do to her. She'd lost everything she'd wanted—and she'd done all that to herself. Besides, Jenny had a fairly good idea that Nate was the first step of Blair grooming her to take over the Constance crown. She'd mentioned it once or twice already this trip, and while Jenny wasn't necessarily sure she  _wanted_ it, it was nice to know it was an option.

Blair swept past her, picking her way gingerly through the dusty piles of boxes. "Were the Christmas decorations in any particular location? I don't want to have to go through all these boxes."

"Over here," Jenny called, as she popped open the lid on a cardboard box. "This was where I found the ornaments."

Fifteen minutes later, arms full of newly-dusted garlands, red velvet bows, candelabras, and the all-important sprig of mistletoe, Blair and Jenny made their way down the attic stairs.

"That was surprisingly successful," Blair observed. "You're more resourceful than I realized."

"I had to be," Jenny deadpanned. "I grew up in Brooklyn, didn't I?"

"Which, for the longest time, I believed detracted from your suitability. But I've changed my mind. The old games are tired, anyway, they only worked when I took over the crown because I had help. You'll need something extra. Something devious that an Upper East Side Princess wouldn't think of. And deviousness is something you have in spades."

"I think I'll take that as a compliment," Jenny said.

"You should know by now that deviousness is a highly prized commodity. Look at who I'm in. . ." Blair trailed off, and Jenny bit off a gasp.

"You didn't hear that," Blair said in a quiet voice. "I didn't . . ."

"No, of course not," Jenny said quickly. "But of course, we all  _know_  you are. And it's fine. Good even."

"Just forget it," Blair said, valiantly trying to recover from her near-gaffe.

"What do you mean, you had help? You needed help to win the crown? It must have been Nate and Serena."

Blair was perfectly aware that Jenny was taking control of the conversation—asking her the one question that would serve to distract her from what she'd almost said. But like she'd said to her only moments before, Blair  _did_ value Jenny's conniving brain.

"Serena? That girl couldn't scheme to save her life. And Nate? He was too busy on the lacrosse field and barely getting C's in his classes. No, they didn't help me." Blair gave the girl next to her an appraising look. "But then you know that. I'd bet there isn't much you don't know, Little J. You know exactly who it was that helped me take over Constance."

They'd nearly reached the living room now and Blair paused. Jenny stopped and turned to look at her. "Wait," Blair said, her voice growing kinder—and suddenly, very genuine. "I'm not under any assumptions that you won't make your own share of mistakes, but let me give you some advice. Sometimes what you think you want—what you think you  _need_ —is what society thinks you need. In our world, Jenny, appearances are everything, and it's so easy to let them rule you, rule your decisions. For a long time, I let them own me. Don't let that happen to you, no matter how much you want to belong."

Jenny was speechless for a moment because for half a second, she actually  _liked_ Blair Waldorf. She was suddenly, and strangely human, and Jenny had so rarely seen this side of her. This, Little J decided, was the girl who had fallen in love with Chuck Bass and had died a little inside when he'd left her in Tuscany.

"Thank you," she finally said. "And I mean that."

"Well, I meant it too," Blair said, suddenly brisk and back to her old self as they entered the living room.

"Blair. Jenny. You've missed quite a show," Erik announced from his perch next to the window.

"What are you doing over there? What are you looking at?" Blair asked, setting down the candelabra and unwrapping the musty garland she'd been wearing like a scarf.

Vanessa, Serena and Erik were all next to the window, avidly watching something that was happening outside, and as Blair walked closer, she realized what they were looking at.

Chuck, Nate and Dan were chopping wood.

Or rather, they were  _attempting_ to chop wood.

Chuck was standing apart, looking askance as Dan wielded with ax with all the visual emphasis of the Brawny Man, but with the actual skill of the Scrawny Man.

"I think he might do himself an injury," Blair said cuttingly, as he gave another great swing and this time missed the log entirely, but nobody missed the concerned undertone in her voice.

"He's trying really hard, though." Serena tried to valiantly defend her man.

"Yeah, I think that's the whole problem," Vanessa added, who was barely smothering her laughter.

"Look," Erik pointed out, "Nate's going to take over."

Before Dan could attempt to swing again, and possibly chop someone's foot off instead of the log, Nate intervened, stepping forward and grabbing the ax out of his hands.

"Thank goodness," Blair drawled, "I thought we might have to perform emergency triage any minute."

"He wasn't so bad," Serena said reproachfully.

"He was terrible," Vanessa laughed. "This might be the only time that Blair and I ever agree on anything."

Blair nodded. "At this rate, we're going to be sleeping in the living room again."

"Oh, Chuck knows," Erik said pointedly, and the group turned back to the window. Sure enough, Chuck was gesturing angrily, a frustrated expression on his face. It was clear that he was in agreement that they weren't going nearly as fast as they needed to.

"Girls-and Erik, of course," Blair said sweetly, "if we continue to stand here and stare at them, they'll put more effort into showing off than effort into the actual chopping. And if that means I'm stuck sleeping on the couch again, I will  _not_ be very pleased."

"Fine," Serena grumbled, turning away from the window, "what do you want us to do instead? I'm  _bored_."

"An excellent question," Blair smiled. "I'm so glad you asked . . ."

"What she means is 'I'm so glad I get to order you around like slaves,'" Vanessa said in an equally saccharine voice.

"For that, you're ordered to the kitchen. We're going to need something for dinner. Not Chef Boyardee or canned peas and not waffles. Good luck."

"But-" Vanessa tried arguing but Blair shut her down with a freezing glare.

"No buts. You do work in a restaurant, don't you?"

"I'm a  _waitress_ -not a chef!"

"You'll manage," Blair said dismissively.

Jenny thought for a second that Vanessa might make a real issue of Blair's command, but Vanessa, while seemingly so independent, had a backbone made of jello. So instead of arguing, she merely slunk off to the kitchen, and Blair turned to the rest of the group, a smug, victorious smile on her face.

"Alright, then. Now, decorations. . ."

* * *

Hours later, night had fallen, shrouding the enormous house in darkness, but candles dotted the living room, giving a cheery glow, and even a candelabra stood in an alcove on the staircase. Fires crackled in several grates, and for the first time in what felt like days, Blair thought she might actually be getting warm.

"I should get some more logs," Chuck said lazily, as they lay on the couch in front of the fireplace, watching the fire roar merrily.

"I still can't believe you managed to chop so much wood," Blair said, and Chuck smiled at the admiration in her voice. A Waldorf wasn't easy to impress, but it was undeniable that she was today. He'd done it-secured electricity (at least temporarily), and heat, and even had managed to express to her a little of what she meant to him. Sure, it had only been a heart, traced in the steam on the glass of the shower, but it was something. And the something was a lot more than he was probably going to be able to get out in the end.

"I wanted to be with you. Not on that damn couch again."

"Well you have me now," Blair said with a teasing lilt to her voice as she snuggled into his arm. "What are you going to do with me?"

On a regular evening, Chuck could think of any number of things he'd like to do to her. They'd spent so much time apart that he'd had too many opportunities in which he could only have her in his fantasises, but now she was not only flesh and blood, but she was next to him, her body warm against his, and he was too fucking tired to even think about _moving_.

Even the thought of walking back downstairs to grab more wood filled him with dread.

"Blair," Chuck sighed, hating that he was going to have to turn her down, and hating even more that she would probably take it personally, believing that he wasn't attracted to her anymore or that she was too fat or that she was wearing jeans instead of the latest Chanel dress.

"Shhhh," she said, wrapping her tiny hand around his arm. "I know. It's alright. You're tired." She leaned down, brushing her lips across his cheek. "I am too, actually."

"I'll just go get us a few more logs, to tide us over until morning," Chuck said, rising to his feet with what he was embarrassed to acknowledge was almost a groan. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so sore-or so tired. He hadn't even been this bad off after any of the Lost Weekends he'd participated in.

"I'll see you in the bedroom," Blair said softly, and he turned back to smile at her, a vision in her white sweater, her hair falling down her back in loose brown curls.

Chuck made his way down the stairs and to the wood they'd piled in the entryway. He was filling his arms with the logs when he heard steps behind him and turned to see Serena hovering uncertainly behind him.

"Don't tell me," Chuck said darkly, "Dan's decided he's not even capable of  _carrying_ the wood either."

Serena just shrugged. "I offered. He's done so much today . . ." she trailed off. "But then, so have you."

"I had to. You know that."

"Well, of course you did. But still, the old Chuck would have turned and run-a long time ago."

"I couldn't exactly run," he said wryly, "we're kind of trapped."

"Literally. Metaphorically," Serena said blithely with a wave of her hand. "That's just semantics. Really," she continued, her voice dropping down to a low murmur, "I'm impressed."

Everyone assumed that Blair was the tougher critic between the two best friends, but he'd known Serena Van der Woodsen a long time, and when she wanted to be, she could be the toughest mama bear alive. And Blair had always been her favorite bear cub to protect.

"She tries to hide it, but she loves you. A lot. And I know you care about her too-you wouldn't be doing any of this if you didn't."

"I do," Chuck said. That he  _could_ say. And it helped that it wasn't Blair, weirdly enough. He could tell everyone, but could he tell her? That was the question.

"Then you need to tell her. Blair tries to pretend like she doesn't care, but she does. She always will. It's who she is. I think you know that better than just about anyone else."

Chuck just nodded; this was nothing new. He'd always known the price of Blair's heart were the words.

"You know," Serena said as he turned to walk back up the stairs. "I didn't approve of you before-but I've changed my mind. I was wrong; you  _are_ good for her."

This was completely unexpected. Chuck was used to people's shocked expressions that a Waldorf would ever want to consort with a Bass-especially a Bass like him. He was even used to thinking that Blair was too good for him, that she was significantly lowering her standards to be with him, and that he'd never truly be worthy of her attention, never mind her love.

Chuck considered this as he climbed the staircase, the truth of the matter suddenly not quite so black and white as it had been only five minutes before. Serena was the last person he'd ever expected to tell him that he was good for Blair-because she would never lie, not about this. She would only say it if she honestly believed it to be the truth.

* * *

**Chapter 11: Chapter 11**

* * *

**AN: Sorry this took so long for me to finish; that's the problem with having more than one ongoing story. For anyone who's counting there are only three more chapters of this story-and then the sequel, which will be basically my version of late S2/S3/S4ish.**

**Thanks to JosieSwan for betaing and for comewhatmay for being an awesome twitter buddy :)**

 

* * *

 

The next morning, after a brunch of canned peaches, the girls, led by Blair, gathered in the kitchen to finalize their plans for that evening's Christmas Eve celebration

Nate had  _begged_ for more waffles, which had brought a smile to Jenny's face and a frown to Vanessa's, but Chuck had put his foot down and had insisted that the electricity had to be saved for necessities. "Archibald, your stomach isn't an emergency," Chuck had said. And then, afterwards, he'd dragged Erik into the living room to help him draft a chart dividing up the electricity for the next few days.

"Look what I found!" Serena trilled enthusiastically as she walked into the kitchen, where Blair was watching as Vanessa compiled a list of all the kitchen equipment they had available to them. "It was in the library."

Blair plucked the book from Serena's hand and read the title. " _Semi-Homemade with Sandra Lee_. What does that even mean? Why would anyone brag about making something _semi_ -homemade? Isn't that kind of an insult?"

"I think the point is that it's easier and faster to make things when you get some help on the side," Vanessa explained as all four girls leaned over the book that was open on the marble kitchen counter. "Though I don't see why you'd ever admit it."

"If I was actually going to cook, I would never tell  _anyone_ that I had help," Blair said scornfully, eyeing the author's picture on the cover. "But then, look at how much Botox she's had. Clearly, her judgment is flawed."

"It's a place to start," Serena said, trying to persevere with her positive attitude. "We don't have much of anything as far as supplies go, so I thought that maybe this would have some advice on turning canned food into an edible dinner. Besides, it was the only cookbook in the library."

"How much electricity do we get?" Jenny asked.

"According to the chart Chuck and Erik put together—an hour," Vanessa said, glancing at Chuck and Erik's chart, which had been taped to the fridge.

"I don't know anything about cooking," Blair admitted, "but that seems rather. . .short. Too bad we don't have a Rachel Ray cookbook."

"You know who Rachel Ray is?" Vanessa asked in surprise.

Blair shrugged. "Dorota likes the Food Network. Once in a while, I allow her to watch it instead of Audrey."

"How. . .sweet of you," Vanessa said, clearly attempting to forge some sort of truce, but Blair ignored her.

"Little J," Blair barked, "where's the list of supplies?"

"Right here," Jenny said meekly, handing her a handwritten list of all the food left in the pantry.

Blair perused the list, a frown creasing her forehead. "I'm no expert," she said slowly, "but how the hell are we supposed to turn this into dinner? Spam? Canned peas? Pineapple? This is going to be a disaster."

Serena started flipping through the pages of the cookbook, though cooking to her was even more foreign than it was to Blair. "I don't think they have any recipes with Spam," she said.

"Thank god. I'm not eating that," Blair said with a shudder. "I don't care that it's Christmas. What other meat do we have?"

"We have canned chicken and canned tuna," Jenny volunteered, pointing to the list.

"God, I hate canned food," Blair said with heat in her voice. "What I wouldn't give for roast lamb right now. Or a  _fresh_ salad. This stuff is disgusting."

"Oh look," Serena exclaimed. "She actually has a recipe for Spam!"

"We're not using Spam. Period," Blair said with a grimace. "I wonder if we could substitute the tuna for the crab in this recipe." She pointed to the opposite page, at a recipe for crab pasta.

"We don't have any pasta," Serena reminded her. " Remember?"

"Oh, but we do. Spaghetti-O's? I know Nate tried to eat all of them, but there are still three cans left."

"I can't believe you're volunteering to eat Spaghetti-O's," Little J said.

"Well it's better than Spam," Blair snapped venomously with a glare that reminded Jenny of their bargain about Nate.

"I think we could add the tuna. And maybe these artichoke hearts. And some of the canned peas?" Vanessa said thoughtfully. "And didn't Jenny say she found some biscuit mix?"

Jenny nodded. "It was buried in the far back. We just have to add water."

"What about dessert?" Serena asked.

"I have a few ideas," Blair said, absently flipping through the cookbook. "Some sort of cobbler? With canned fruit?"

"That sounds amazing, B. Do you think I could help?" Serena asked hopefully, but Blair gave her a wary look.

"S, I don't think it's a good idea for you to cook. You and an open flame . . .that's only asking for trouble."

"That's not fair. You're all contributing," she said stubbornly.

Blair had a vision of the log mansion burning down around them because she'd allowed Serena to help with the dinner. There were only a handful of ways that this Christmas could be worse, but being stranded with nobody around, with a burning house, was definitely one of them. But at the same time, Serena pouting would only cause a different kind of trouble, and she needed all four girls to at least  _appear_ to be getting along if the plan she had waiting for Nate was going to work.

"You're in charge of setting the table and decorations," Blair said soothingly. "You can't cook  _and_ do that at the same time."

"So that's it then?" Vanessa asked. "No more planning?"

"Oh, I have a few more things," Blair said, sugar coating her voice, "but I think Little J is more than capable of helping me with them."

"Good," Vanessa snapped. "I'm going to go finish wrapping my presents. I'll be in my room."

She had just exited the room, when Blair turned back to Jenny with a poisonous smile on her face. "I believe you know what to do. Last I saw, Nate was in the living room, napping."

"Blair, what's going on?" Serena asked, her eyes shifting from Blair's social destruction expression to Jenny's alarmingly similar one as she left the kitchen in search of Nate. "You're  _not_. No. Not even you would stoop that low."

"Don't tell me you're jealous still," Blair said with a roll of her eyes and a flip of her hair. "You appear to be sickeningly in love with Humphrey. Nate's old history."

"Nate's with  _Vanessa_  now."

"Yes, he is  _now_ , but I don't think that particular union is going to be very lasting, do you?" Blair said, closing the cookbook with a decisive snap.

"That's beside the point. It's not your place to interfere with their relationship." Serena sounded like a prissy schoolteacher, and Blair briefly missed the Serena of old, who'd been as up for social destruction as she herself was. But then, she remembered that the S of old had required copious amounts of babysitting and vomit removal.

"I'm not doing anything," Blair said lightly, with an expression of beatific innocence. "I merely leant my expertise during the planning stages. Jenny's still a little green at this."

"At what? Stealing someone else's boyfriend?"

"S. Really. Don't sound so shocked. I can't help but remember what  _you_ did with Nate. How does that rank above Jenny merely pushing Nate to admit his feelings for her?"

Serena's face grew tight with anger—and, Blair thought, guilt _._ She'd never stop feeling guilty over what she'd done with Blair's boyfriend, and that particular fact occasionally came in handy.

"Let me guess, Chuck's helping you."

Blair shrugged, piling the lists of supplies on top of the cookbook. "He offered, but I told him that I thought I could manage it alone."

"I can't believe I was stupid enough to give my approval," Serena said with disgust, "you two are going to go out of your way to ruin everyone's lives and rebuild them exactly how you  _wish_ they were. How long before you decide that Dan's not good enough for me, and you conspire to break us up too?"

Blair gave her best friend a flat look. "You say that like I haven't already  _tried_ to do that. More than once. Besides, I know Dan's from Brooklyn, just like Vanessa, but he, at the _very_  least—and I do mean the very least—knows to at least  _attempt_ to fit in. Vanessa sticks out like a sore thumb and I think she actually enjoys it."

Serena was silent for a moment, and Blair hoped that she was at least attempting to use her brain to ascertain the brilliance of the plan. "Fine, I'll concede that point," she finally said, "but I still don't think it's right for you to get involved."

"How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not really  _involved_ , necessarily. I merely helped Little J along."

"Somehow I doubt that," Serena said dryly. "You're the Queen B. You live to manipulate everyone around you."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

Serena sighed in defeat. "I give up. You're the way you are. Nothing's going to change you. Do you know where Dan is? I need a normalcy-fix. You and Chuck . . .I can only take so much social destruction at one time."

"I believe he said he was going to the library," Blair said. "I'm going to go decide what to wear tonight. We're dressing up, yes? Make it a real celebration."

"As long as we can keep the heat on. My dress isn't exactly made of fur, and I don't want to freeze."

"Perhaps I should go convince Chuck to be a little more. . .generous with the electricity," Blair said airily.

"Ew. Gross," Serena said. "I didn't want or need that mental image. Besides, I think he said he was going to go cut some more wood with Erik."

* * *

"If I were you, I'd tell her tonight," Erik said as he lifted another load of wood to the growing pile near the back porch. The air was briskly cold, but it hadn't snowed any more, and Chuck was hoping that the respite would give the authorities an opportunity to set a potentially disastrous Christmas to rights.

"How do you know I haven't already?" Chuck asked.

"Blair's walking around like the second coming of Catherine the Great, ordering Vanessa and Jenny and even Serena around like they're minions at Constance. And didn't you see the headband she was wearing at breakfast? You haven't told her."

Chuck sighed. "I haven't told her."

"I didn't think so. So let me repeat my previous advice: tonight would be the perfect time to tell her. Of course, you're Chuck Bass. You probably have a plan. Besides, you came up here to tell her in the first place. Right?"

Erik looked so sure, so positive, that he was going to be able to do it that Chuck didn't have the heart to tell his little brother that his balls were shrinking and he'd nearly come to the conclusion that he wouldn't be able to get the words out. "Right."

"So what's the plan?"

Chuck froze, the ax resting on the ground. "The plan?"

"You've got to get with it here. The  _plan_. How you're going to tell Blair that you love her."

When Chuck didn't say anything, Erik took a closer look at Chuck's face and realization dawned. "Oh my god. You don't have a plan."

"Not exactly."

"Well then, tonight's perfect. What did you get her for Christmas?"

Chuck scuffed a shoe—giving up on keeping his new boots pristine—on the snow on the ground. "Honestly, I'm not sure I can do it."

"Give her a present? Uh, well . . ." Erik looked so bleak at this prospect that Chuck laughed humorlessly.

"No. I've got a present, and yes, she'll love it. But it's not going to be  _right_  unless I can say the damn words."

"They're just words," Erik said so reasonably that Chuck felt like punching him. "Three of them in fact. And Blair needs you to say them."

"I know," Chuck said testily.

"And," Erik said slowly, "I think you need to say them. Not just for Blair, but for you too."

This was something that Chuck hadn't actually considered before now, and of course, it would be Erik who would say it. He truly was wise beyond his years.

Chuck took a deep breath, the tight, choked feeling that had been his nearly constant companion since he'd bailed on Blair last summer surfacing again. Erik was right. He was never going to be able to move on, to end this purgatory, if he didn't just tell her how he felt.

"So tonight?" Chuck asked, hoping his voice sounded calm. "You think I should do it tonight?"

"It's Christmas Eve. That's pretty much got romance built into it. Candlelight, a Christmas tree, gifts? You can't go wrong. By the way, what  _is_ your gift?"

"You mean, what could I possibly get Blair that could ever compete with the Erickson Beamon necklace? I've got something," Chuck said. "That's the only part of this that I'm confident about. She'll adore it."

"But it's going to be meaningless unless you say it," Erik said. "And this is probably your final chance. Tonight."

Chuck raised the ax and brought it down hard on a log, cracking it in two with a lot more competence than he'd shown when they'd first attempted chopping wood. "I know," he said, frustration in his voice. "I know I've fucked it up. I know she should just walk away. I know I won't really be able to make her happy." Each phrase was punctuated with an increasingly aggressive whack from the ax.

Erik decided that things were rapidly getting out of hand, and it was clearly going to be his job to administer some tough love. "Chuck. Stop it," he barked in a voice that later he would realize was just a younger, slightly less assertive version of Chuck's own. "You haven't fucked it up. You can't walk away—because not only will Blair never forgive you, none of us will. And you already  _have_ made her happy. She's here, there's no electricity, there's no real food, there's no comforts practically, and she's  _still_ beaming from morning 'til night. Do you really think that's because Nate's here? Or Vanessa? Or Jenny?"

Chuck stopped chopping, his hands going slack on the ax handle. His back was to Erik, so he had no idea if what he'd said had gotten through his brother. But he knew he was Chuck's—and to a point, Blair's—last chance. Someone had to say something or this whole thing was going to blow up.

"You're good for her. She's good for you. When are you going to stop fighting it?" Erik risked saying into the sudden silence, praying that he wasn't overdoing it.

"You know I've never really loved anyone before. Not that way. Not really in any way. People were important to me, but I kept them away—shut them out—because I didn't know _how_ to be that guy. I've always been alone," Chuck said softly. "I don't know how to  _not_ be alone."

"You do—you just don't realize it. You're not alone now. You're spending Christmas with your family and your friends. And Blair, who despite everything that our world has told her over and over again, loves you."

"Sometimes, you make an alarming amount of logical sense, Van der Woodsen," Chuck said, with an attempt at his usual snarky tone, but it failed.

"Amazing, I know. But I'm serious, Chuck. Torture yourself all you want to—you've been doing that your whole life, so you're pretty good at it by now. But I love Blair, she's practically my other sister, and I don't want you to hurt her anymore. Just tell her how you feel."

"It's not that simple," Chuck started to say but Erik interrupted him.

"It's  _exactly_ that simple. Now I'm freezing. I'm going in the house. And I don't want you to second guess yourself anymore. Just tell her."

Chuck was left outside with his feelings and a lot of wood that needed to be chopped. He glanced down at the ax he was holding, and shrugged. He needed to be alone anyway—maybe Erik wasn't wrong. He'd spent a lot of years torturing and punishing himself. His continued silence wasn't just hurting him anymore. It was hurting Blair too.

Several logs later, the back door opened, and Chuck glanced up to see Nate standing in the doorway.

"Need any help, man?" Nate asked. "Erik said you were out here, chopping wood."

"So Erik sent good cop," Chuck said.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Nate said, confusion wrinkling his forehead. "Good cop?"

Chuck split another log down the center. "Erik was just here, reading me the riot act for hurting Blair."

"What did you do to her this time?"

"See, that's my point exactly.  _This_ time. You just assumed that I'd done something horrible to her again."

Nate shrugged and sat down on the wood pile. "Not really. I just know that you two seem to have a thing for hurting each other. It's what you do."

"But we don't have to. We  _choose_ to do this. Rather—I choose this for us."

"So this is about you telling her, huh?"

Chuck didn't say anything, but then he didn't have to. Nate was dim, he just wasn't  _that_ dim.

"Listen, I know that we've had our differences about Blair. God knows I hated you for long enough for what you did—"

"Are you going to follow that up by attempting to strangle me again?" Chuck interrupted.

"No," Nate said with a laugh. "And if I never apologized for that, I'm sorry. I didn't understand. I mean, you're  _Chuck Bass_. The idea that you could love Blair was foreign to me."

"Foreign to me too," Chuck muttered.

"But not now," Nate said, hesitating. "Right?"

"Am I going to get killed if I say no?"

Nate rolled his eyes. "No. Besides I'd know you were lying. And you're the one with the ax—not me."

Chuck let the ax swing by his side and turned to face the boy who'd once been his only friend in the whole world. "You'd know I was lying?"

"Of course," Nate said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It's written all over your face, man. And if you don't mind me saying, it's been that way for a long time, I think. I just think I didn't see it, and you hid it from yourself."

"I thought it was kind of pointless. Considering that everyone I knew had decided practically from the cradle that you were going to marry her." Chuck's voice was a little bitter, and Nate wasn't sure he blamed him for being resentful. It wasn't fair that everyone just automatically decided that the Prince should marry the Princess. And what made him the Prince anyway? Chuck was richer. More devious yes, but richer. More powerful. More ambitious. If anything  _he_ was the Prince, not Nate.

"We play our roles well, I suppose. But this isn't about a role. This is about you being honest. And Erik was right—Blair deserves someone who loves her, but most of all, she deserves someone who'll own up to it."

Chuck gave a sharp nod, and turned back to the log in front of him. Nate jumped off the wood pile and walked towards the door. "Wait," Chuck said, in the middle of a swing of the ax. "How did you know that Erik told me that Blair deserved someone who loved her?"

"Because that's exactly the kind of thing that Erik would say." And with a cheeky grin, Nate disappeared inside the house, leaving Chuck to his increasingly conflicted feelings.

* * *

Nate had just finished brushing the snow off of him when Jenny walked up, a big, winning smile on her delicate features. Her blond hair was wavy and half-twisted up, as if she'd been in the middle of a big project and hadn't wanted to stop long enough to really get it out of her way.

"Nate, just the man I wanted to see," she announced. "I have a big favor to ask."

"Whatcha need, Jenny?" he asked, tamping down, as he always did, the routine pang of affection and attraction he felt towards her. Even if he'd denied it to Blair, she  _was_ young—young and pretty much a carbon copy of Blair herself. He'd been there, done that, and he wasn't interested in dating Blair 2.0. But even as he told himself this, Nate knew there was a sparkle, a wit, a chemistry between Jenny and him that he'd never had with Blair.

"Your height," Jenny said conspiratorially, latching onto his arm and dragging him towards the living room. It was dim, because the light outside was fading fast, as afternoon segued into night, but he could still see the evidence scattered around the room that she'd been doing some last minute Christmas Eve decorating.

"Everything looks amazing, Jenny," Nate said, smiling down at her. "Really, really wonderful. I can't believe you did all this, with almost nothing and no help."

"Well, I'm asking for your help now," she said modestly, with a tiny shrug and a twinkle in her eye. "So that doesn't count as  _no_ help."

"It'll be our secret," Nate said, suddenly feeling alarmed at how close she was to him, those big blue eyes gazing up at him like he was Prince Charming and the White Knight all in one big delicious package. He hadn't been able to save Blair, and Vanessa hadn't ever wanted to be saved—but Jenny? She still hungered for his rescuing. He could see it in her eyes, in the wide smile she gave him.

And god help him, he couldn't deny it any more. He wanted to rescue her from those Brooklyn idiots who didn't know what a gem she was. A precious stone, a diamond really, surrounded by dull, boring rocks.

_Like Vanessa_ , his mind screamed, and he tamped down the voice. It was no good. They had nothing in common, and he was becoming more and more aware that they bored the shit out of each other, but he clung to her familiarity because she wasn't Jenny. And Jenny was a whole other problem that he wasn't prepared to deal with yet.

"Even better," Jenny said, leading him over to where she'd set up a step ladder underneath the entryway. It was festooned with a lovely evergreen garland and a big red bow.

"I need to hang this," Jenny said innocently, holding up the tool to his undoing—a tiny, nearly insignificant sprig of mistletoe. "Will you help me?"

Part of Nate's mind screamed that this was a trap, that he'd willingly walked right in and that he needed to get out  _now_ , before things got out of hand. But he stayed where he was, his feet unable to move. "Sure," he said in a thick voice that he didn't think sounded like his at all. "What's that?" he asked, as he took it from her, even though he knew perfectly well what it was. Blair had trained him to recognize this from thirty paces away—because if he ever met her under it and he  _didn't_ kiss her, he would be in for several hellish weeks of Blair fits.

"It's mistletoe, silly," Jenny teased. "Just hang it up, right up there." She gestured to the apex of the evergreen bough.

But Nate didn't move; he didn't think he  _could_ move. Maybe if he just stood there, he wouldn't do anything stupid. But Jenny had other ideas. "Think you can handle it?" she asked, her delicate features suddenly transforming into something not-quite-so-innocent.

It was like a bullfighter waving a red cape in front of an enraged bull. Nate saw himself—almost as if he was watching from a long distance away—smile down at her, and climb the two steps of the ladder to hang the mistletoe.

"Perfect," Jenny said, beaming up at him like he'd just saved the entire holiday, and god, it was  _sweet_. But it wasn't just the bonus of having a young,  _very_ attractive girl look at him like he was the most amazing man in the universe—it was something else too. This electricity that had crackled between them from the first moment. The understanding way that she listened; that he could actually  _talk_ to her and she was actually interested. Blair had never wanted to listen, and his problems had bored her. Vanessa was almost worse than Blair. Jenny, however, was nothing like the two girls he'd dated before. She was like Serena, but  _different_.

Better.

He gave up. It was inevitable. She'd trapped him here, wrapped up in a bow just as neatly as she had the rest of the decorations. "Looks like we're under the mistletoe," he whispered, only vaguely aware that what he was doing was way out of bounds considering his relationship with Vanessa.

"What should we do about it?" Jenny asked softly, but he knew from the look in her eyes that she knew perfectly well what he was going to do about it. That gleam of triumph was too familiar, but suddenly, he just didn't care. So what if she was like Blair? So what if she'd manipulated him into this situation? It wasn't like he didn't want to be 'd just done the brave thing, by doing what she could to get what she wanted.

In a lot of ways, Nate decided as he kissed her, it was laudable.

They kissed for a long time, longer than they had in front of that photographer's apartment, and he pulled her against him. It was just as amazing as he remembered, and he could tell from her whimper and from the way that she leaned into him, that she felt exactly the same way.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The voice dumped a whole bucketful of cold water on him.

He broke apart from Jenny, feeling hazy and confused, even though he knew exactly what had just happened. He'd been set up.

Vanessa looked furious, her face an unnatural shade of cherry red. "What the  _hell_. Jenny, where do you get off kissing another girl's boyfriends?" she said in a quietly furious tone. "And you—" she sneered at Nate, "I don't even know where to start with you."

"How about we start here," Jenny said, the ring of authority in her voice making her sound older than her years. In fact, if Nate was being honest, it made her sound like Blair—someone who was used to absolute power. "If you hadn't stolen Nate's letter from me before I could read it, you wouldn't be here with him now. He'd be with  _me_ instead."

"And what, you were just proving that?" Vanessa cried out, and Nate just stood there, silent and shell-shocked, as the girls fought over him like he wasn't present.

"Yes," Jenny shot back venomously. "And reminding him that before he went running back to you, we had something. Something special that you  _ruined_  with your little letter stunt."

"And let me remind  _you,_ " Vanessa snapped, "that when the shit went down at the Snowflake Ball, Nate went after  _me_. Not you. He could have had you, and he decided that he didn't want to date another controlling, social-climbing bitch. When are you going to get it, Jenny? You're  _never_ going to be Blair."

Jenny's face went pure white with anger and Nate decided that he'd heard enough. From both of them.

"You two have fun," he ground out and stalked out, hoping that they wouldn't follow him.

They didn't—they were too busy tearing into each other. "Maybe I'm not Blair, but at least I'm not going to be like you!" Jenny yelled.

"Yes, well, I can see how being your own person could be problematic, but let me remind you. Nate is  _my_ boyfriend. Keep your hands off him." Her final salvo fired, Vanessa turned on her heel to leave, to go find Nate and remind him of exactly why they were together, but Jenny had learned social destruction from the Queen B herself and so she'd kept her best weapon for last.

"Make sure you tell him that too," Jenny said coldly, "because he kissed  _me_."

Vanessa froze in place. "You're lying," she said, her voice suddenly quiet and calm and unbelievably even.

"She's not lying." Jenny turned towards the voice, and Blair stepped into the room. "I saw it happen. Nate kissed her."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Vanessa sneered. "I'm sure you made sure that it happened in the first place."

Blair glared coldly at the belligerent girl in front of her. "I don't think you quite understood what Jennifer said and what I confirmed—Nate kissed  _her_. No amount of finger-pointing and misplaced blame will change that. Even I can't manipulate someone into doing what they don't want to do."

It was the final blow. Vanessa fled the room, tears beginning to fall, and Blair and Jenny looked at the each other as soon as she was gone.

"Your timing is, as always, impeccable," Jenny said, with smile of self-congratulations. That had gone better than she'd ever envisioned.

Blair shrugged nonchalantly. "She was naturally suspicious. When I offhandedly mentioned that Nate was helping you with the decorations, she instantly left to find you. She's known for a long time that he has feelings for you."

"I still appreciate it," Jenny said. "I owe you."

"You do. Probably more than you'll ever be able to repay, but you should consider yourself lucky that I have everything I want and I don't need to call in any favors."

"Everything you want?" Jenny asked with a raised eyebrow.

" _Almost_ everything," Blair revised with a hint of a blush. "I just . . ."

Jenny gave her a reassuring smile. "He will. I know Erik was going to talk to him, give him that final push."

"Actually," Blair said, taking a few steps closer so that Jenny could hear her lowered voice better, "I was thinking about just . . .saying it first."

"First?" Jenny was so surprised she didn't know what to say. The idea of Blair Waldorf proclaiming her love for Chuck Bass before he did was foreign to everything the Queen B held dear.

"I was inspired by you, actually. You knew Nate liked you and instead of waiting for him to come around ditch Vanessa, you decided to take matters into your own hands. It was brave and rather fearless of you. I used to be like that."

"You  _are_ like that," Jenny reassured her. "But you really care about Chuck. It's terrifying to give someone that kind of power over you."

"Terrifying, but exhilarating," Blair said, thoughtfully. "And if I say it first, then it's a non-issue. He'll say it back, and then we can finally move on."

Jenny considered asking Blair what they would be moving on to, but she'd already pushed her luck; it was highly doubtful that Blair would confide her future plans with her.

"Then you should. Say it first, I mean."

"I think I will," Blair said, her face lighting up. "And I'll do it tonight. At midnight, on Christmas Eve. That way it'll always be special for us. An anniversary of sorts."

**Spotted: The Queen B assisting with Little J's hostile takeover of Nate Archibald's heart. As for her own? Between you and I, come Christmas Eve, our favorite Basshole is going to receive something he never thought possible: Blair Waldorf's white flag.**

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**AN: Yes, next chapter is finally Christmas Eve!**

**Follow me on twitter at bethaboo555. Comewhatmay, SaturnineSunshine and I have been hosting Gossip Girl episode watchalongs on twitter/gchat, and we'd love for you to join us. We do each week's new episode and then on the weekend, we also host a watchalong of an older GG episode-helps us get through the Chuck/Eva disaster. This last weekend we watched Victor/Victrola and next up is Seventeen Candles! Let me know if you'd like to join :)**

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**Chapter 12: Chapter 12**

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**AN: Mucho apologies for the delay in this chapter (especially considering how important it is), but it's up now, and I have to warn you, it's long. Like over 7,000 words long. Regardless, I think that all of them are necessary.**

**A few items of business before we get down to it:**

**1\. This is the second to the last chapter. There will also be a short epilogue. Then, I am writing a sequel to this story that incorporates a lot of the storylines/characters/themes from S2-S4, but in a very different way. Tentative title is "Kings and Queens."**

**2\. I'm posting a series of drabbles. The first 4 in a series of 10 are up. Title is "Nothing More to Say."**

**3\. Chuck and Blair's Christmas gifts to each other are linked in my profile-I have a photobucket album with pictures of them.**

**4\. As some of you will see, there is some dialogue lifted directly from episode 2x25, "The Goodbye Gossip Girl." Also, I used a line from 3x09, "They Shoot Humphreys, Don't They?" and a bastardized version of a line in 4x04, "A Touch of Eva." None of it belongs to me (but I thought it was a nice touch).**

**Thanks go to JosieSwan for betaing this so quickly and to comewhatmay who is the S to my B.**

 

* * *

 

**Rumors are running rampant that our Queen B is taking a protégée under her fabulous wing—and for those of you following the upward climb of one Jennifer Humphrey, you'll be gratified to know that it looks like she's left Brooklyn behind forever. But what we really want to know is whether or not Blair will select Jenny to be her royal successor. With the military action against V a rousing success, and the battle for Mr. Archibald almost won, is there anything that Little J can't do?**

"I remember when I first moved back to New York and Dan told me that he'd gotten involved with Serena van der Woodsen. I thought he was crazy, but I was wrong. It isn't him, it's the Upper East Side. It destroys you."

Blair looked up from the jewelry she was sorting through to see Vanessa standing in the doorway of her bathroom. "I'm sorry," Blair said, holding Vanessa's gaze in the mirror, "was there something you wanted? A shoulder to cry on after Nate dumped your sorry Brooklyn ass?"

But Vanessa didn't waver, and for once, her eyes were as cold as Blair's. "Dan dating Serena dragged me into all this. I would have been happy dating some hipster friend of my sister's or maybe a jam session buddy of Rufus's but instead, I fell for Nate Archibald. And now," Vanessa practically growled, "the worst part of this is that I fucking subscribe to _Gossip Girl_. I get her blasts, just the same as the rest of you, if only so I can know when I've been targeted by you and your stupid minions."

Blair turned and eyed her up and down with distaste. "Most of the time, you're actually beneath my notice. Not necessarily Jenny's, but she'll rise above you given a little time."

"You saw the blast. I heard Chuck say he charged your phone."

Blair raised her chin. "I did see it."

"Did you send it?" Vanessa asked, the hateful edge of her voice growing sharper.

"Maybe," Blair said, turning back to the tangled necklaces she'd been separating. "Does it even matter? I told you before, you want to keep Nate, then keep him. Jenny didn't force him to do anything."

Vanessa grimaced in frustration. "You  _know_ that's not true. You know and you're going to sit there and lie to me. What if it was you? What if someone was trying to steal Chuck from you? Would you let them?"

"First," Blair said, congratulating herself on how calm she was, "if it was me, it would never have gotten this far. Second, you forget. It's already happened, and I took care of the problem. Today."

"I don't understand."

Blair's chin tilted up and her voice took on an even more superior, patronizing tone. "Let me walk you through it. Dan gave me some advice a few months ago, and I took it, and announced to Chuck that I would tell him how I felt. And I was going to, before you intervened, and told Dan about the little bet that Chuck and I had made over you. Did you forget what you did, Vanessa? You told Dan so that he'd stop me. He did, you know. I didn't tell Chuck that night. I never told him. And here we are, months later, and we're both still silent."

Vanessa looked surprised. "I didn't think. . ." she stuttered, surprised that Blair would remember that. That Blair would even care. She'd never thought of Blair as having a heart before this, and had certainly never considered that Blair was in love with Chuck Bass. It was astounding that anyone could even  _be_ in love with Chuck Bass.

"You knew," Blair said steadily, her dark eyes cold as ice. "And you told Dan so that he would stop the attempt. So now you know why I helped Jenny. I've always believed in an eye for an eye, so now we're even, and I can forget you even exist."

Vanessa tried to rally, but it was hard under the frigid condemnation of Blair's antagonism. "I didn't mean to. I . . .I'm going to fight for him. The way you fought for Chuck."

"I would hope so," Blair said, turning away again, clearly done with the conversation, "because Jenny needs a challenge. I wouldn't want you to make it too easy on her."

"This isn't over," Vanessa said stubbornly.

"Well, then you'd better go tell Nate that, shouldn't you?" Blair said lightly.

"I will," Vanessa said, turning and storming out.

Blair looked up into the mirror and smiled. Whoever said that revenge wasn't satisfying had clearly never gotten even before.

"You're smirking at your reflection. Should I be worried? Are you planning on giving us all food poisoning?" Chuck said, walking into the bathroom.

"Only Vanessa. And maybe Humphrey. I haven't decided yet," Blair said with a grimace.

"I passed Vanessa in the hall. It didn't look like your heart to heart went very smoothly."

"I just had some unfinished business to take care of, that's all," Blair said, hoping that Chuck wouldn't ask what it was. She didn't want to bring up the whole 'I love you' that hadn't actually happened because revisiting it, even briefly, with Vanessa Abrams of all people, made her remember how she'd felt that night. Helpless and weak, the words she was dying to say to him trapped inside of her.

And tonight, that couldn't happen again. She would be strong. She would say what she felt—no games, no pretension, no hiding.

Most importantly, she would have no fear of what he would say or wouldn't say back. Telling Chuck how she felt wasn't about her wanting to hear it—though she did want to,  _a lot_ —it was about her inability to stay silent one more day.

After all, tonight was Christmas, and it was a holiday of giving and joy and love. None of those things had figured very prominently in her relationship with him prior to this, but maybe Christmas could also be about starting anew. And to do that, Blair knew she would have to take the plunge and finally confess that she was in love with him.

"I've confiscated more candles," Chuck said, "though I had to steal them practically from under Erik's nose."

Blair smiled, as she plugged in her curling iron. Thank god for small favors—Chuck had finally relented and was allowing them half an hour of electricity to get ready for their Christmas Eve party.

"Do I want to know why you're hoarding supplies? Are you planning social destruction without me?" she asked speculatively as she brushed out her hair. It felt so intimate to stand in front of the long wide counter with its matching sinks and get ready together. Like they were already a couple; like they were already married. She glanced down at her empty ring finger and couldn't help imagining a flawless (and large) diamond, set in platinum, there. Chuck, unlike Nate, would know exactly the right kind of ring to buy her when the time came. And Blair was certain that the time would, because tonight, when she told him she loved him, it didn't mean that she'd love him for a little while and then eventually stop or get tired of him or want somebody else. She was going to love Chuck Bass every day for the rest of her life—even when she didn't like him very much.

"Never," Chuck said, as he gazed at her in the mirror. "I know better than to ever try to execute a plan without the Queen B on my side." He paused and reached out to stroke her bare arm, a possessive, intent caress. "You look exceptionally beautiful tonight."

"You don't look so bad yourself," Blair said coyly, her gaze taking in his pristine white tuxedo shirt and perfectly cut black trousers as he tied his red paisley bowtie. "And I do believe we're going to match. Again." She smiled indulgently at him as she leaned over and gave a finishing tug to the red silk around his neck.

"Of course we are," Chuck said. "It's Christmas. You're going to wear red."

"I could have worn green."

"Again," Chuck said with a smirk, "it's Christmas, and you're Blair Waldorf. You'll wear red."

He was right—she rarely wore green at Christmas, because most shades of the color washed her out and made her complexion sallow. Red, on the other hand, was one of her favorite colors and one she wore regularly, especially around the holidays.

"Sometimes I wonder how much attention you've been paying to me through the years," Blair said, glancing up at him from her under eyelashes. Her voice was light, teasing, but she was honestly curious. She'd never asked him if the night of Victrola had truly been the beginning for him, or if he'd felt something for her before that—but she'd always wondered.

"More than you realize," Chuck said offhandedly, and this time, Blair decided she wasn't going to let him off so easily. Under the cover of curling a strand of hair, she asked again. "And how much was that, Bass?"

He leaned against the counter, his expression inscrutable and the smirk out in full force. "Darling, you know I've only ever had eyes for you."

"That's a lie," Blair said steadily, wondering why he wasn't just telling her. What could he possibly have to hide?

Correction: what  _more_ could he have to hide?

Chuck glanced at his watch. "The electricity's due to turn off in a few minutes. I'll light some candles." He left the bathroom, and returned a minute later, setting a few out on the counter and lighting them with a lighter he'd fished from the pocket of his pants. "That's better."

The lights flashed off a moment later, and Blair wondered idly if he'd had time to go downstairs and tell them to turn the lights off sooner so that he could avoid answering the question that she'd been asking.

Blair sighed and set down the curling iron as it cooled. "Good thing I was done with my hair."

"It looks lovely.  _You're_ lovely," Chuck said softly, wrapping his arms around her, brushing aside her hair and pressing kiss after kiss along the column of her neck. It was dim in the room, and Blair felt short of breath as the reflection of the candles flickered in the mirror. This lack of electricity was inconvenient, but she couldn't deny that candlelight was unbearably romantic.

She leaned into him for a minute, enjoying the feel of him so close to her, the heat of his body leaching through the thin silk of the robe she wore, but then she pulled away as she felt his hands descend to the tie on said robe.

"Chuck," Blair exclaimed. "It's Christmas Eve!"

"And?" Chuck said, raising an eyebrow. "I know you'll be tearing my clothes off later."

That wasn't the only thing she hoped to be tearing—Blair also hoped she'd be tearing down a few of his many emotional walls.

Blair shrugged his hands off and gave him a bright smile. "This is now, and that's later. I have to finish getting dressed and go downstairs and supervise the dinner preparations. I'm not entirely certain that without my observation that Vanessa won't try to feed us rat poison."

"Are you going to tell me why it was necessary to enrage her?"

"Enrage?" Blair asked lightly as she brushed powder on her face. "I'm sure I didn't mean to do that."

"Bullshit. You meant to decimate her. I know you too well, darling. I know exactly what you meant to do to her."

"She crossed me," Blair shrugged. "She had to be put in her place, once and for all. Nate is not only her meal ticket, but the only reason she has a place in this world at all, and on top of that, they're ill-suited. Never mind that the entire plan had a rather beautiful symmetry to it." Blair gave her hair one final glance and turned away from the mirror, crossing the bathroom floor until she reached the doorway to the closet.

"What aren't you telling me?" Chuck asked, as Blair unzipped a garment bag, revealing a ruby red dress.

"You of all people have the nerve to ask me that," Blair complained, shutting the door in his face, despite his protests. "I know, I know. You've seen me naked before. But maybe I want to try to preserve some of the mystery."

"Mystery isn't all it's cracked up to be," Chuck argued, his words muffled through the wood of the door.

"Perhaps," Blair said, slipping her dress on and reaching out to open the door to him. She turned, presenting her back to him. "Especially if it means you'll zip me up."

Chuck ran his fingertips up the skin of her back that was exposed by the open zipper of her dress. Pulling her hair up, he rested his lips against the nape of her neck. "Beautiful," he murmured and the fervency of his voice sent shivers up her spine.

"Merry Christmas, Chuck," she said softly, turning and resting her hands on his shoulders.

"Merry Christmas, Blair," he said as he grazed her cheek with his lips. He pulled back and Blair thought she could see something new in his eyes—something that perhaps foretold confessions of love? But before she could open her mouth and say it, he spoke again. "I have to go downstairs and make sure Erik goes out to the garage to turn the electricity back on. So you and your minions can prepare us a feast worthy of Christmas Eve."

"Wait," Blair said, suddenly breathless, catching his arm. "Don't go quite yet."

Before he could even speak, she continued, "I will not be weak anymore." Chuck opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off again. "You can't run; you have to stay here and hear it. Chuck Bass," Blair took a deep breath, praying, hoping, wishing that he wouldn't run again—that he would never run away every again, "I love you. I love you so much it consumes me."

Silence fell between them as Blair's confession detonated in the room. Blair searched his face, desperately looking for a sign that he was happy, that she had done the right thing in finally forcing them to face this thing.

"Blair . . ." Chuck said, and it was not the confession that she'd been wanting. It was the opposite. It was all there in the tightly controlled hesitation. He wasn't going to say it back. After everything, after him bringing her up here to this godforsaken lodge, he was  _still_ not going to say it back.

But she wouldn't go down fighting. She was Blair Waldorf and she  _knew_ he felt the same way. "I know you love me too," she said in an almost inaudible whisper. "You said you wanted to show me. That it was more important than the words, but the words are important too. They're important to me. I can't do this without them."

He cupped her face in his hands. "And you'll get them. I promise. But not quite yet. Please, Blair, trust me."

She wanted to cry. How could she trust him? She had trusted him so many times before, and each time, it had only blown up in her face.

"How?" she asked, hating that she was nearly begging him, hating that he had brought her near to tears.

"I don't know," he said. "God, Blair, I don't know. Just . . .I can't say them right now. But I promise you that I can."

A flame of anger surged in her chest, and she swallowed hard against the hurt swelling her throat. She wouldn't let him see her cry—not this time. "I've been waiting a long time, Chuck. Too long. Either tell me now or . . ."

"Or what? You'll leave? Sorry, but I don't think that's going to happen." His voice was defensive, and he was no longer pleading with his eyes. He'd grown cold and stony, as heartless as his reputation, and Blair wanted to hate him, or maybe just herself.

She took a deep breath. "I told you because I couldn't keep silent one more second. Because when you love someone, you want to be with them—no lies and no pretension. I just want to know that everything we've done, all the gossip and the lies and the hurt, that it will have been for something. Tell me it was for something."

His eyes grew colder—and his voice even more impossibly so. "You mean your little British lord? Was it for something, Blair? I forget."

"Better than your Brazilian triplets on the beach," she lashed out, her own voice cracking under the strain of trying to keep calm, of trying to keep her tears in check.

She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her arm, preventing her from leaving him. From running.

"No, not like this," Chuck begged, and she looked suspiciously into the face of the man she loved.

"Like what then?"

"Just . . ." Chuck paused, as if he were searching for the words that could make her stay, could make her believe, could make her trust—and he knew there were only three of those. Three words. Eight letters.

"Just please. Let me do this how I'd planned it. I can't . . .it's hard enough for me as it is. You have to give me the time I need."

"You'd planned it?" Blair asked, hating the hopeful tone she couldn't help.

He nodded. "I did. And it was going to be hard enough to do it even without all of this," he gestured between them. "I'm a creature of habit, Blair. You have to let me be that guy. Even if he doesn't deserve you."

Blair blinked away her tears, and caught his face in her hands. "Maybe," she said, resting her forehead on hers, "maybe what I told you might make it a little easier."

He nodded, and Blair could see the relief in his eyes that she hadn't run. "I'll wait," she told him. "Not very long, because it feels like I've always been waiting for you, and I'm tired. But I love you so that means you get a free pass." She kissed him, tasting the salt of her tears mixing on their lips, his arms wrapping around her so tightly she almost couldn't breathe.

"Does that mean you'll say it again?" he asked, and Blair was relieved to see that his smirk was back. Nothing, even her own declaration of love, could keep it away for long.

"When you can finally say it back, you can count on hearing it again," Blair said.

It definitely wasn't the declaration that she'd been expecting, but it wasn't hopeless. They weren't hopeless—at least not quite yet.

* * *

Blair was emptying a can of peaches into a casserole dish with the Sandra Lee cookbook out in front of her for reference, when Jenny walked in, wearing a green dress not unlike the one Serena had worn during Eleanor's fashion show.

"You stole it back," Blair said, giving her a tough appraisal from head to toe. "To be honest, it looks better on you. And Nate always did like the long limbed, leggy blonds."

J rolled her eyes, and Blair frowned. Jenny didn't look nearly as happy as she should look. "Let me guess, Vanessa got to him before you could."

"Nope," Jenny said, leaning against the counter, a frown on her face. "Not exactly. We both got to him, I guess. But then he went on this big long rant about how he didn't like either of us, and how he wanted to be treated as more than a piece of meat."

Blair sighed. "Unfortunately, what Nathaniel fails to understand is that you're treated how you act. If he can't elevate his behavior, and if the shoe fits . . ."

"I know," Jenny said, glancing down at the floor. "I just thought if he knew . . .if he kissed me again. . ."

"He would see?" Blair couldn't help but retort a little bitterly. "Let me just stop you right there, Jenny Humphrey, and clear up that little fallacy before you go pinning more hopes on it. Kissing doesn't clarify things, it only complicates them. I should never have come up here with Chuck. The whole world thinks we're together now."

"But you  _are_ together," Jenny interrupted. "We all saw it."

"Exactly," Blair said. "The whole world has seen it, but what the whole world and Gossip Girl don't know is that I told Chuck I loved him. And he didn't say it back."

"I can't believe he didn't say it. What happened?" Jenny seemed genuinely upset, but this was the Upper East Side and as much as Blair had maligned Jenny in the past, it would be stupid to give her any ammunition whatsoever.

"I'm not going to tell people that. I wouldn't do that to you. Not after . . ."

"Not after I'm already humiliated because the man I love can't even give me something as small and simple as three words?"

"Blair, you know he loves you."

A bubble of hysterical laughter welled in her chest and trickled out of her throat. "I know. But he says that I have to wait, for the right time, the right plan. God, I don't even know what he means by that. And yet here I am,  _cooking_ for him."

"I am too," Jenny shrugged. "For Nate, a guy who doesn't understand that I'm fighting not for a piece of meat, but for him. And Chuck will come around. It's still Christmas for another day and a half. He'll find a way to tell you."

"You're either delusional or optimistic," Blair sighed as she opened random cupboards, looking for a bowl to mix her streusel topping in. "But here I am, trusting Sandra Lee to make sure our Christmas dinner isn't a disaster, so I suppose I can trust you with my love life."

"By the way," Blair added, "I should warn you that Vanessa came to see me while I was dressing for dinner, and she wasn't very pleased with our little plan. I know you two used to be friends . . ."

"She stole Nate from me," Jenny interrupted. "She stole him, so she deserves whatever she gets."

"Good," Blair said with satisfaction. "I hoped you would see things that way. Don't be weak like me. I let Serena back in after she betrayed me with Nate, and it forever undermined my rule."

"But Serena's your best friend."

"That's the thing. You need to be cold to be Queen. I wasn't cold enough."

Serena chose that moment to interrupt, clattering into the kitchen wearing pink (of course) and sequins (of course).

"Serena, dear, Merry Christmas," Blair said, her voice morphing into something sweeter and more saccharine and Jenny realized that Blair had been  _real_ with her—there hadn't been any varnished pretense, only reality. "Didn't you realize it was Christmas?" she asked, eyeing Serena's interesting choice of dresses.

Serena tossed her hair, and Jenny wondered if all that blond, shining effortlessness was as unpracticed as it seemed. As hard as she herself tried, she could never get down Serena's air of surprised nonchalance.  _What? You mean you think I'm beautiful? What? You're in love with me?_

"I don't think it's necessary to stick to red and green. They get a bit boring," Serena said with a bit of an edge to her voice, as she glanced from Blair to Jenny. "I just came from Vanessa's room."

Jenny saw Blair's hand still on the cookbook for a brief moment before moving again. "Oh? And how is our resident Grinch? Has she managed to get off her high horse? I need her to get down here and help prepare dinner."

"Blair, I thought I told you that I didn't want you to mess with Nate and Vanessa's relationship. That it wasn't any of your business."

"I didn't realize that you were the Queen," Blair said steadily. "Besides, it wasn't my decision. It's between Jenny and Vanessa."

But Serena didn't budge, her eyes stayed glued on Blair. "She's devastated. Nate broke up with her. I'm sure he's only . . ." Serena paused and only then did her gaze shift towards Jenny. "Well, it's only a matter of time, let me say that much."

"Actually, it's not," Jenny spoke up. Her personal opinion was that Serena was being awfully hypocritical; Blair hadn't had to forgive her for her transgressions against her, but she had. And this was the way she was repaid for sacrificing some of her power and her territory, all for the friendship of a girl that turned on her every chance she got? Jenny didn't think that was very fair at all, and despite that she herself had railed against Blair's nasty vindictiveness more than once, she had a lot of respect for Blair. Maybe, Blair deserved better.

"I don't understand," Serena said.

"You wouldn't," Jenny retorted, "because just the same as it isn't any of Blair's business, it isn't yours either. And Nate dumped Vanessa, but he didn't exactly come running into my arms either. I don't think he's very happy with either of us, actually."

"She was crying."

"We all cry," Blair snapped, and Jenny wondered if she was going to tell Serena about Chuck's failure to say he loved her back—but Blair said nothing and refused to explain what she'd meant, even when pressed.

Finally, Serena had flounced off, all blond hair and pink sequins, to the dining room to set the table, and the kitchen was again quiet.

Blair was topping her fruit concoction when Vanessa entered the kitchen, eyes downcast, but noticeably red and swollen. She stopped abruptly when she saw that both Blair and Jenny were present, but Jenny was surprised, considering what she'd heard about their confrontation earlier in the evening, to see Blair look up and give Vanessa what appeared to be a genuine smile.

"V, I'm glad to see you decided to join us." There wasn't even any of the normal sarcastic bite to Blair's words—they seemed real and actually  _friendly_.

Vanessa edged suspiciously into the kitchen. "You too."

"It's Christmas," Blair sighed. "Let's try to put this behind us, at least for tonight."

"I suppose I could manage that."

"Good," Blair said with a bright smile, "because you're cooking the main dish and without you, I'm not sure what we'd do."

Vanessa gave a snort of laughter, but it didn't seem like she was all that amused—or even surprised. "Of course. I know my place."

"Excellent. According to Chuck's schedule we only have twenty minutes left, so we'll have to hurry. And I'm not really in the mood to go to him to bargain for more electricity."

Something in Blair's voice, or her words, or her expression must have told Vanessa everything she needed to know, because she only nodded wordlessly and got to work.

Jenny thought it was intriguing how even when professing to hate Blair Waldorf, when faced with the heartbreak she'd dealt with where Chuck was concerned, even her most fervent detractors seemed to be able to find a shred of sympathy in their hearts.

* * *

Two hours later, Christmas Eve dinner was eaten, the candles were flickering low, their wicks drowning on melted wax, and the entire group was gathered around the Christmas tree.

Chuck had forbidden any more electricity, but the candles provided a beautiful golden glow around the room, and if Jenny mourned the white lights on her tree, she didn't say so.

Nate was actually sitting with Serena and Dan on the couch. Blair and Chuck had appropriated the loveseat, her legs curled up underneath her and his arm extended across the back of the sofa, but nobody had missed the rather dull, almost dead energy between them tonight. Erik was on the floor, Jenny's head on his shoulder, and Vanessa was silently glowering at the rest of the group from a chair in the corner.

"It was actually a wonderful Christmas so far," Serena said drowsily, her fingers intertwining with Dan's. "Surprisingly."

"The food was even edible," Nate added. "I have to give Jenny and Vanessa props for dinner. That was actually one of the better meals I've ever had. I never would have guessed it came from cans." He also never would have guessed at the beginning of the day that tonight, when both girls turned to look at him, neither of them would look very pleased. He'd clearly managed to fuck up that whole issue with his enlightened "I'm a man, not a piece of meat," speech.

"I made the cobbler. Me and Sandra Lee," Blair revised. "Though I have to give her more credit than I did initially. Her ideas aren't terrible. Not that I'll be spending much time in the kitchen after this."

"You could," Serena said. "I can totally see you on the Next Food Network Star."

"I'm going to pretend not to even know what that is," Blair persevered. "Nevermind that it's one of Dorota's favorite shows."

She was quiet for a moment, then continued, in a voice so quiet that barely anyone could hear her. "I missed Dorota. It didn't seem right without her there."

If anyone was surprised that the person Blair Waldorf missed during the holidays was her maid, and not her mother or her father, they didn't say a word, but Chuck merely nodded, his hand dropping to her shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We'll be able to see her soon, I promise."

Blair looked up at him, and the whole room, which had begun to erupt in minor chatter, silenced almost instantly. It was as if they could sense the storm brewing under the supposedly calm surface of Chuck and Blair, and they wanted to be witness to the moment it erupted.

"We'll?" Blair asked with a bitter laugh. "I know I'll see her soon. I don't know if you'll be invited."

"Blair," Chuck said, his tone reasonable, "please don't do this. Not here. Not now."

"Then when are we going to do it?" Blair asked.

Chuck glanced around the room, all too aware that the entire gathering was holding its breath for his response. What he was about to say was going to change everything, but then he was Chuck Bass. And Chuck Bass practically invented the concept of a gamechanger.

"Come upstairs in fifteen minutes," he said steadily, "and you'll see."

Blair glanced down at her watch. "In fifteen minutes it'll be midnight."

"Yes," Chuck said, and he could feel the interest of those around them spiking. "Come find me then."

"And you'll have something to say to me," Blair said, hoping dawning again in her eyes.

"I think you'll be happy with what I have for you."

"I like reassurance."

"She'll go," Serena said from across the room, and gave a helpless shrug when Blair turned and glared at her. "B, it's not like you have any other commitments up here."

"I suppose I could arrange that," Blair finally said, giving in as gracefully as she could.

"Fifteen minutes. Don't forget," Chuck said, rising. He faced the rest of the room. "And Merry Christmas. See you in the morning."

When Chuck disappeared, Serena pounced, predictably. "B, what is going on?"

Blair just shrugged, and Jenny wasn't surprised to see her throw a tiny, reprimanding look in her direction. The Queen B didn't want her to give away her secret, and Jenny wouldn't. Not this one, and not right now. Though she didn't want anyone else to know, Jenny knew Blair was too fragile right now.

"Something happened," Nate objected. "I could see it. What happened, Blair? Did he finally tell you?"

Blair stiffened on the couch. "What do you mean, did he  _finally_ tell me? What do  _you_ know about it, Archibald?"

"I know that he wants to. I know that he's terrified. But he's got a plan."

"A plan?" Blair scoffed. "What where was this amazing  _plan_  when I told him before dinner?"

"Oh my god," Serena exclaimed, "you told him, B? For real?"

"For real," Blair said with a depressed voice. "And he couldn't say it back."

Erik and Nate exchanged worried glances. "Maybe you just caught him off guard," Nate volunteered. "He had this plan for tonight, at least that's what I thought he had, and maybe he just got . . .turned around because you told him first."

"You don't get turned around because someone tells you that they love you," Jenny objected. "You either love them or you don't."

"He loves you," Erik spoke up. "He'll say it. I know he will. He wants to be that guy, Blair. It's just not easy for him."

"Of course it isn't. Of course I had to fall for someone for who this doesn't come naturally."

"Honestly," Nate added, "I'm not sure it comes all that naturally to you, either."

"Don't let him get away with it," Erik said. "And I mean that with all possible affection for my brother, but you're Blair Waldorf. If anyone can wring a love confession out of a man, it's you."

Blair glanced down at her watch. "Well, I suppose I'll be finding out now if that's the case," she said, rising to her feet. "Merry Christmas."

* * *

Blair had a fairly good idea the kind of scene she'd be presented with when she opened the door to the suite she was sharing with Chuck. He knew what she liked, what he could do to try to smooth over her hurt feelings from earlier, and when walked into the bedroom, she wasn't disappointed.

Candles were scattered over every surface, the flames flickering in the darkness of the room. The covers on the bed were turned down, but there was no Chuck. Blair slipped out of her heels and walked further into the bedroom, expecting Chuck to show himself, but he didn't.

Christmas sex was a great present—especially when it had been so long since she'd been able to have him, and she was still getting used to the idea that she could have him whenever she wanted—but Blair couldn't deny that what appeared to be her present was more than a little disappointing. She'd wanted something permanent, something real. Something lasting.

Instead what she was getting was wonderful—but ultimately fleeting—pleasure. She sighed and tried to reach up and unzip her dress. Might as well pull out the lingerie that she had selected for their Christmas sex.

"Blair, What are you doing?" Blair turned and saw Chuck in the doorway between the bedroom and the living room of the suite.

"Getting undressed," she said, giving up on reaching the zipper and crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I thought that was what you wanted."

"No," Chuck said instantly, crossing across the carpet and pulling her hands into his. "Not at all. I was waiting for you on the balcony. I thought I'd hear you come into the suite. This. . ." he hesitated. "This wasn't for right now. This isn't what I had you come up here for."

"Oh." Blair wasn't sure how to react. "My present is on the balcony?"

"In a manner of speaking," Chuck said.

"I don't understand."

"You will," he reassured her. "Now put your shoes back on." Blair slipped back into her heels and Chuck draped the tuxedo jacket he'd just removed over her shoulders. "It's cold," he said by way of explanation, "but I don't think we'll be out there that long."

Blair let Chuck guide her out of the bedroom, through the darkened living room, and when he opened the door onto the terrace, she couldn't help the little gasp that escaped her lips. He'd swept the terrace of all the piled up snow that had been on it before, and there were more candles, their flickering wicks the only light in the velvet black night that surrounded the house. Chuck led her onto the terrace, and pulled her close as they neared the balcony railing.

"Bass," Blair admitted, "this is actually rather romantic."

"I thought you might like it," he said. "But I thought you might like this more." Chuck removed a small, flat package wrapped in gold paper from his pocket. "Merry Christmas, Blair."

She didn't want to be disappointed that the reason he'd brought her out here was because of her Christmas present, but she couldn't help it.  _When_ was he finally going to tell her he loved her? He knew she loved him—was it truly that difficult to say it when he'd already heard her tell him once?

Blair took the present from him and slowly ripped the thick, gold paper open, revealing the traditional baby blue of Tiffany's. She glanced up at him, and was surprised to see that he looked nervous. Very nervous. As if he might have to lean over the balcony and throw up the dinner that she and Jenny and Vanessa had slaved to prepare.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he said, his lips clamped tightly together. "Just open it, Blair."

She looked down at the box again, and wondered if it was a ring. But even Chuck Bass wouldn't be dumb enough to propose before he'd ever told her he loved her. Besides, she wasn't even 18 yet, and while early marriages were often common among the Upper East Side, most couples at least waited until they'd graduated from high school. Of course, she wouldn't put it past Chuck Bass to try to tie her to him in every way possible. He was jealous and possessive and, despite his inability to admit it, in love with her. But the box was the wrong size—it was flat and bigger than any ring box that she had ever seen.

Blair lifted the lid, and pushed aside the white tissue paper to reveal a delicate, silver bracelet. A charm bracelet, she corrected, as she lifted it out of the box and examined each charm in the candlelight.

"Wait," Chuck said, his voice unusually gruff. "Let me put it on you."

"It's beautiful, Chuck," Blair said softly, watching as he lifted her wrist and lovingly snapped the bracelet closed. "I want to see the charms," she insisted, trying to squint in the dim light to make them out, but Chuck held her hand fast.

"No," he said, "I want to tell you about them. Why I picked them for you."

"You hand selected the charms?" Blair asked in surprise, though she shouldn't have been. This was Chuck, for whom every action was deliberate.

"First," he said, not answering her question, "there's a butterfly." He pointed to a diamond encrusted butterfly dangling from the bracelet. "Do you know why I picked the butterfly?"

Blair nodded, tears pricking the corner of her eyes. He might not be able to say the words, but he was telling her as well as he could that he loved her, that he cherished her, with this beautiful hand-selected gift that apparently represented their past together.

"When I told you I liked you the for the first time, after you danced for me at Victrola." Chuck's voice was hushed, nearly reverential, as if he was remembering that night as they stood out on the balcony. "You said that I had butterflies in my stomach, and I did, Blair. For the first time with a girl. For you. Only you."

"Next," he said, "an Eiffel Tower, because I know that while New York is your hometown, Paris is your dream. And next summer, we'll go there together. Visit Harold and Roman and their chateau."

Blair could only nod wordlessly as he continued. "A shoe. Because you've always been the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and every day I'm in awe that you could ever look my way." Blair laughed a little, and he smiled up at her. "I know you think that Serena's the beautiful one, but Blair, you have to know . . ."

He couldn't finish his words because Blair caught his face in her hands, the charms on her bracelet tinkling against each other as she kissed him soundly. "Thank you," she said softly, pulling away. "Thank you for saying that."

"Someday you'll believe it's true," Chuck said wryly. "Now, don't distract me. We're not done. There's still three charms to go. A crown—because you'll always been the Queen B to me. The role was created for you, and from this day forward, we'll rule together, Blair. Like we always should have been."

"Okay," Blair said in a small voice. "I suppose I could accept that."

"A snowflake," Chuck said, caressing her wrist with his thumb, "for our first Christmas together. And for another reason, which leads me to the final charm." He held up her wrist, and the diamonds sparkled in the light, and Blair caught her breath as she saw it for the first time. "A heart. The first time you told Nate you loved him, you pinned a heart on his sleeve, so that he'd always know that he carried your heart with him. And this heart, Blair, this means that you have my heart with you always."

Blair couldn't believe the expression on his face, the way his emotions seemed suddenly naked and bare and exposed—all to her. Only to her. But he  _still_ didn't say it. She wanted to hit him, but with the cool satin of the platinum bracelet on her wrist, she couldn't be  _that_ mad—but she with Erik's words in her head, she could poke him a little.

"Is that all?" she asked.

He smiled a little then, and Blair was suddenly aware that his hesitation hadn't been real; he'd just wanted her to push him harder. "I love you, too."

Blair could only remember very specific things about the moments that followed.

The exultation flooding her body. The smile that was so wide that it nearly hurt to be  _that_ happy. The feel of his arms around her, the low victorious laugh that vibrated against her lips. "Can you say it again?" she asked breathlessly as he whirled her around, both their burdens suddenly so much lighter because they'd be able to face them together. "I love you," he mumbled into her mouth. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"Wait," Blair said, pulling away from him. "Your present."

"It can wait," Chuck said with a low growl as he tried to wrap his arms around her again. "No," Blair insisted, pushing away from him. "It can't. I need to give it to you now. Trust me."

Blair exited the balcony, her feet flying over the carpet into the bedroom, and then into the closet, where she threw her suitcase lid open. Resting on the top was the red wrapped package that she'd brought from New York.

Breathless, she returned to the balcony, and thrust the package into Chuck's hands. "Here. Merry Christmas."

Chuck raised an eyebrow quizzically as he ripped open the red paper on the small box. "Are you going to tell me why I had to open this now?" he asked.

"You'll see," Blair said, hugging the coat around her body.

He opened the black velvet box to reveal a pair of platinum cufflinks. "Blair, these are wonderful," he said, but Blair just smiled.

She plucked one from the box and brought it close to both of their faces. "Look," she said, pointing to the back of the cufflink, "here on the back. It's a heart. I had them engraved. I wasn't sure if I was ever going to show you, but since you decided it was finally time for us to be together, I thought it was appropriate that you should see. The heart pin," she said with a smirk of her own, "wouldn't have worked for you, Bass. It's not your style. But these? You'll have my heart with you, always."

Chuck looked up at her with astonishment on his face. "You weren't going to tell me?"

Blair shrugged. "My heart was always yours regardless of whether you ever said it to me."

"I love you, Blair," he said softly, as he wrapped her in his arms again. "God, I love you so much. I'm never going to make you regret choosing me."

"I don't know about that," she said coyly, "you  _are_ Chuck Bass. But I'm prepared to accept the good Chuck and the old Chuck and the bad Chuck and all the Chucks in between. Because I love you."

"It's cold," Chuck said, a lecherous grin on his face, proving Blair's point—he might have confessed his love to her, but he would never truly change. "Let's go inside. I have another surprise for you."

Blair gave him a hot look. "Then why are you still dressed?"

**Spotted: Blair Waldorf not kissing Santa Claus, but a Bass instead. Our King and Queen are in love and** _**in flagrante delicto** _ **at the Bass country estate. Felicitations are in order for the newest Upper East Side power couple-but who am I kidding? Could anyone challenge such a powerful reign? Stay tuned Upper East Siders, this will be a New Year worth watching.**

* * *

**Chapter 13: Epilogue**

* * *

**AN: Thank you all for this lovely ride. MC was my very first Gossip Girl story and I can't tell you how amazing it was to be welcomed into this fandom with such open arms. I'm so appreciative.**

**Thanks to my beta, Josie, who is always willing to lend a hand, even when she feels noxious and ill.**

**This takes place on New Years Eve, about a week after the last chapter ended. The opening GG blasts open us up with a little scoop on what's been happening the last few days . . .**

* * *

**Merry Christmas, Upper East Siders! It wouldn't be the holidays without a few snippets of juicy gossip, and I have a special gift for you this Christmas morning. A minion has snapped a picture of the Bass limo leaving Manhattan, with not only Bart and Lily Bass inside, but the newly-engaged Eleanor Waldorf and Cyrus Rose. With their families by their side and their relationship as newly-minted as the Bass fortune, C and B have every reason to be singing joy to the world.**

* * *

**Hark, the herald angels are at it again—not singing, but gossiping. I hear Vanessa Abrams returned to Manhattan only to vacate Brooklyn for an extended vacation up north. Is it possible that Little J and the Queen B have finally taken out the Brooklyn trash for good?**

* * *

**Spotted: Chuck Bass's limo back in Manhattan, idling outside the Waldorf penthouse. Is this a sign of new times in a New Year? Upper East Siders, we're breathless to see what the new regime will look like. Miss Waldorf, Mr. Bass—don't keep us waiting too long.**

* * *

**Looks like Dan and Serena's New Year's resolution is to rekindle old friendships—and feelings. Their relationship is back on, in a big way. Apparently the Bass lodge isn't only a lovely vacation spot, but it also doubles as a love nest. If only Little J had managed to close the deal on N. Even with V gone, rumor has it he's not taking her phone calls. Cheer up, Little J, I'm sure the Queen B can order someone to kiss you at midnight.**

* * *

**Spotted: Vanessa Abrams' triumphant return to Manhattan. I guess old acquaintances** _**aren't** _ **forgotten, after all. I can't help but wonder what the Queen B thinks of this new, and unexpected, development. I'm guessing that Miss Waldorf's New Year's resolutions will include a brush-up on her banishment skills.**

* * *

**My sources tell me that the Queen B and her brand-new King had themselves a very merry Christmas, but what they aren't telling me is when they'll make their official debut as a couple. The Vanderbilt New Years Eve soiree? The first day of spring term at Constance Billard and St. Jude's? I would have guessed the new Mrs. Bass's black tie charity ball, but a little bird told me she'd seen the guest list with** _**no** _ **RSVP from Miss Waldorf. Information is power, Upper East Siders, and I'm feeling a little underneath the weather—and the news. I'll pop the champagne while you dish.**

Blair snapped her phone shut with a decisive click after reading Gossip Girl's latest blast. She glanced up at Dorota, who was trying to pretend she wasn't glancing up at Blair inquisitively. "Dorota," Blair announced, "I've made my decision."

"Are you sure, Miss Blair? I know you say over and over again that appearances are most important. That you and Mr. Chuck must make  _perfect_ entrance to society."

"And we will," Blair said, relishing the moment.

"You are going to make Mr. Chuck jump through hoop again, aren't you?" Dorota looked concerned.

Blair smiled, as she sat up from her bed and stretched. "He already knows. I'm sure he's had a tuxedo selected since we returned to the city. I just like to keep he and Gossip Girl on their toes."

"So it will be charity ball then? Which dress, Miss Blair?"

Sliding off her bed, Blair tilted to her side, examining the different dresses hanging on the rack set up against one wall of her bedroom. "It's a difficult decision, Dorota," Blair counseled. "Not one that should be made in haste."

"You say that about event, too. It seems great number of things must be done slow as possible," Dorota said with exasperation.

Blair turned sharply and gave her long-suffering maid one of her patented glares. "You're just as bad as Chuck. But at least he knew how important it was we go to the right party."

"True. You and Mr. Chuck camp out in apartment for weeks now. Not that he mind exactly," Dorota said slyly, and Blair turned an unbecoming shade of red.

"It's called a honeymoon period," Blair retorted defensively. "It's the time in our relationship before everyone knows and everyone judges. Before it can all fall apart."

Dorota was silent for a moment before replying, and when she did her voice was kind and patient. "Miss Blair, I know you worry about Mr. Chuck. That maybe he leave you again. But I think this time he stay. He love you too much to walk away now."

"He better," Blair said, fidgeting with the tie on her robe. "If he knows what's good for him, he'll stay."

"He knows," Dorota said loyally-though at this point, it was debatable who she was most loyal to. Despite her initial misgivings, Chuck had won her over with his fierce love for her charge.

"Then I suppose we should let him know that it's the charity ball," Blair said, approaching the rack of dresses, fingering one then another, silk and crepe slipping through her fingers.

"As if I didn't already know. I can't believe you fooled Gossip Girl that easily," Chuck said from the doorway. Blair glanced up in surprise, and couldn't help the incandescent smile at his appearance. "And of course, you're going to wear the purple. The others were just decoys," he continued, striding into the room, looking dressed to kill in a flawlessly-tailored white tuxedo jacket and deep purple bowtie. He paused, the suave act flickering for a second, displaying the eager, lovesick boy underneath as he embraced her. "Hello, lover."

"It's been two hours; I've missed you," Blair said breathlessly, allowing him to kiss her, even though Dorota was in the room. After all, in the last few weeks, Dorota had been witness (if only accidentally) to much more than a chaste kiss. Eleanor and Cyrus had traveled to Paris almost directly after spending Christmas Day at the lodge, and Chuck had spent every night with Blair, either at his suite, or at the penthouse.

"Miss Blair," Dorota announced firmly, "you must dress. Party start soon, and you will want to make grand entrance, yes?"

"Yes," Blair said, reluctantly breaking away from Chuck. "Go downstairs. I'll be ready soon. And of course you were right," she continued, making a face, "the others  _were_ decoys."

* * *

"When Blair said she had a date for me, I didn't think you'd be it," Nate said hesitantly, glancing at the tall blonde next to him.

Serena simply shrugged. "Dan and Jenny went up to Hudson to see their mom before school started. Besides, Dan isn't the biggest fan of the black tie charity event."

"But he would have come, for you," Nate said casually, handing her a flute of champagne, hoping that Serena wouldn't bring up the fact that even though he was apparently the battlefield of choice for both Vanessa and Jenny, he'd needed Blair to find him a date.

"Probably," Serena said, turning on him with a mischievous smile as she sipped her champagne. "But what I'd most like to discuss-and what bringing up Dan will  _not_  save you from, I might add-is why you needed a date at all. What about Vanessa? Or Jenny?"

"Vanessa's not taking my calls," Nate sighed. "She came back to town, but then we fought for the millionth time over the kiss, and what I'd said to her on Christmas Eve. As for Jenny, you said it yourself. She's in Hudson, visiting her mom."

"You said it  _yourself_ ," Serena said impudently, "just like Dan would have come for me, if I'd asked, you don't think Jenny would have jumped on the train if you'd asked her to be your date for New Years Eve?"

Nate sighed. "Serena, it's not an easy decision."

"But you've already made your decision," Serena said gently. "We all know you have. Which is why Vanessa left town to begin with and why you can't stop fighting with her now that she's back. You both know that you've already made your decision. The question isn't who you want, but why you're not telling Jenny that you've already picked her."

They were silent for a minute, the swarms of elegantly dressed Upper East Siders chattering loudly in the background-glasses clinking together, stiletto heels tapping delicately on the marble floor, a low roar of laughter rumbling through the ballroom.

"Sometimes it feels like she's just a younger, blonde version of Blair. And that worries me," Nate finally admitted.

"Nate," Serena started to say, then stopped abruptly at the sight in front of her.

Poised at the top of the staircase were Blair and Chuck, looking like Upper East Side royalty-or maybe just royalty period. Blair's dark hair was piled on top of her head in a complicated twist of curls, her neck, circled in the Erickson Beamon diamond necklace, rising swan-like from the deep bodice of her dark purple gown. Serena had never seen Blair look so stunningly beautiful or so radiantly happy, as she gazed at the man she loved. Chuck was channeling old school elegance in his white tuxedo jacket and matching purple bow tie, and together, they looked untouchable, powerful, and so in love that Serena couldn't help the tears that pricked the corners of her eyes.

"Wow," Nate said in an awed voice. "Just . . .wow." The ballroom in general seemed to be echoing his sentiment, because the chatter faded away, then rose in an approving swell, as Chuck and Blair descended the staircase.

"I know," Serena murmured, "I never knew Blair could look like that."

"She definitely never looked like that with me," Nate agreed. "And Chuck. I don't think whipped is the right term, because whipped isn't supposed to look that . . satisfied?"

"He's in love," Serena corrected in a soft, teary voice. "That's not whipped."

"Did you ever think we'd be standing here a year later?" Nate asked. "It was just last year that I almost killed him for touching her."

"Not exactly," Serena said bemused by the regal way that Chuck had just led Blair onto the dance floor. They moved together as if they were not two separate people, but one entity, and they didn't have eyes for anyone but each other.

"I never thought I'd say this, but maybe it was all meant to be. I mean, if Blair and Chuck can be that happy, then maybe there's hope for the rest of us."

"Oh, there's hope," Serena said, "just promise me you'll call Jenny tonight. She should know how you feel about her."

"I'll consider it," Nate said hesitantly, and Serena wanted to slap him for being so ridiculously  _male_. "Now let's go show Chuck and Blair up. They're not the only ones who can do this. Dance with me." He extended his arm and Serena took it with a smile.

* * *

Blair felt like she was floating on air. Chuck's arms held her so close, so tightly, as if she was the most precious thing he had ever found, and coupled with the glances of awe that were directed their way, she didn't think that their first outing could have gone much better. Plus, Chuck had been right about the dress. It was perfect, and as she'd stared in the mirror earlier that night, as Dorota had fastened the Erickson Beamon necklace, she'd finally understood a little of what Chuck had meant when he said she was beautiful.

"You're lovely," Chuck murmured into her ear, as if he knew exactly what she had been thinking, which was entirely possible. "And I'm glad you chose the black tie ball. I love dancing with you."

"Why do you think I picked it?" Blair said coyly.

"Becuase Gossip Girl ruled it out," Chuck smirked. "I may be in love, but I'm not stupid, darling. You long to show her and her sources up."

Blair sighed happily, and felt the last bit of fear leak out of her. "I wanted it to be perfect," she admitted, "because I was worried if it wasn't, if anything went wrong . . ."

"Blair, it wouldn't have mattered if there was a catastrophe, I'm never leaving you. Not ever again," Chuck vowed before Blair could even finish her sentence.

"And I won't let you," Blair told him softly, surprising herself by discovering she meant it. She thought she'd had enough of being that needy, desperate girl when she'd been with Nate, but he'd never really loved her. Not the way that Chuck did-with his entire being, body and soul. After being loved like that, Blair thought it would be impossible to ever settle for anyone else. Or for anyone else.

They danced and danced, not wanting to let go of each other. Of all the perfect evenings that Blair had ever imagined and hoped and planned, this was the only one that had ever come close to matching her fantasises.

If Blair was being really honest, it had actually exceeded her fantasies.

As the clock struck midnight, Chuck leaned in and whispered in that dark, dangerous voice of his, sending a shiver down her spine, "Kiss me, lover."

And she did. Over and over again.

* * *

**Spotted: The Queen B and her King, dancing cheek to cheek at the Basses' New Years Eve Charity Gala. I should have known better than to trust a minion-do you have any reliable handmaidens to spare, B? I hear Jenny's coming back to town, the heir apparent tiara firmly on her head. If only Nate Archibald hadn't been seen squiring another tall blond around the dance floor. Hold on tight, Upper East Siders, as wild as this Christmas has been, I think the year to come is going to be one dramatic ride.**

**THE END**


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